


We are the Shepherds

by FromTheBoundlessSea



Series: The Celiaverse [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Rhaegar Targaryen, Disguise, F/M, Good Viserys Targaryen, Mulan vibes, Mutual Pining, Older Viserys, Robert's Rebellion, Viserys Targaryen Needs a Hug, he’s not good, i can’t believe this needs to be a tag, kind of, more tags to come, not really Targ friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 28,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea
Summary: She would never be remembered in history. She was the third daughter who would marry a minor lord of no consequence and give him children that may or may not make names for themselves. She would not even be a footnote in the history books or a line in a song, but she could do this.She could heal him and perhaps he could find the strength to face one more day, one more battle. It was the only thing she was truly good at, helping put people back together again.
Relationships: Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lysa Tully Arryn/Stannis Baratheon, Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark, Viserys Targaryen/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Celiaverse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547251
Comments: 326
Kudos: 394





	1. Celia I

“You are a lady,” her father said. “There is no need for you to study the art of healing.”

“You call it an art, Father,” she said. “Is it not a lady’s duty to learn the arts?”

Her father sighed. “You are my daughter and I do not find it becoming.”

“The maester says I have a gift.” 

Her father glared at the keep’s maester and the older man cowed slightly at his liege lord’s gaze. 

She had been practicing the art of healing in secret under Maester Arthur’s tutelage. Celia had always been a somewhat wild child in her earlier years, always scraping her knees or hands. It was no wonder that she had begun to memorize the contents of the maester’s study. She had even begun to go to his study unaccompanied to fix up her own bumps and bruises, only to be caught by Maester Arthur almost a year ago. 

Instead of being angry with her, he had found the situation rather comical and helped her learn better methods of grinding polluce and mixing other remedies. Her father had discovered those lessons only an hour ago. 

“Do not blame him, Father, it is his duty to answer the daughter of his liege lord’s questions.”

Her father’s withered gaze turned to her, but Celia did not flinch. “I am your third daughter, Father, younger than Lysa by a few minutes. I am not quite marriageable to any major lord. I doubt I will marry anyone’s heir or even spare. No doubt I shall marry a lord’s son who has little to his name save a title and a knighthood. I shall run a small keep that may not even have a maester.” She had no doubt that her words were true. Cat and Lysa had much better prospects than she. again, it did not help that she was rather a well-known troublemaker in her slightly boyish behavior. It was not that she did not wish to marry and have children one day, it was simply she doubted that she would marry anyone of great consequence as her sisters would. “Would it not be wise for me to learn some of the art of healing so I might help my husband as much as I can?”

“She has a gift, my lord,” the maester said at last. “The young lady, if she had been born a boy, would have been welcomed amongst those at the citadel for her quick mind and her willingness to learn. However, she was born a girl, yet still retains the aptitude. Should we deny her the gift the gods have obviously granted her?”

Her father sighed. “Shall her hands be ruined by such work?”

“No more than Lady Catelyn’s and her sewing.”

“Then train her,” her father said. “But do not complain to me if you grow bored.”

Celia squealed and rushed to her father to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Father!”

“Yes, yes. On your way then.” He dismissed them and Celia followed the maester out and to his study where she was to begin her greatest passion.”

—

_Dear Eddard Stark,_

_You shall be rather surprised at receiving this letter and finding that it is not from your brother’s future wife, but rather from her younger sister. I write to you now to threaten you._

_I have heard some rumors that your brother is a lover of many women and I wish to know if there is some truth in that statement. If so, please let me know, for I shall tell my father that Cat cannot marry such a man._

_My sister, you see, is the most wonderful person in the entire realm and even Princess Elia could not shine a candle to my sister and her accomplishments (although I say this without ever having met the princess personally). My sister deserves the world and I shan’t have some womanizing Northman take her from me when he will not cherish her. My sister is the princess of Riverrun and she should be treated thusly._

_I know that you and your family shall be heading towards Harrenhal soon for the coming tournament my grandfather is hosting and look forward to seeing if your brother meets the high standards I have placed upon the man my sister is to marry._

_Know that this letter is one of warning. Should your brother do something that causes my sister to cry, he can expect a freshly dead fish in his bed come morning. I know where to find them and, believe me when I say, the smell does not leave you for days._

_This is a friendly warning, though I do hope we can become friends._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Celia Tully_

—

She had never properly helped prepare for a tournament before. Her grandfather, Lord Walter Whent, had come into the idea when Celia’s great uncle, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard, visited. It had surprised almost everyone in Riverrun of Lord Whent’s decision to hold a tourney. What shocked everyone was the reward offered to the winner. Celia hardly imagined her grandfather had more money than Lord Tywin Lannister, but the offered prize seemed to say otherwise. Her grandfather offered a reward three times greater than the tourney held for the nameday of Prince Viserys, who was rumored to be engaged to Lady Cersei Lannister. 

Celia’s father said her grandfather simply wished to show off the wonders of Harrenhal as well as the sons who were ready and willing to marry. She had met her uncles on a few occasions and Celia had to quiet her laughter at the thought that they would need the encouragement of wealth to find a lady wife. 

The crown prince, his wife, his daughter, and his brother would be in attendance as well as the Starks. Celia was unsure of who she was more excited to see. 

“I heard the crown prince is very handsome,” Lysa said as they readied for the royal family’s arrival. “He is supposedly the handsomest man in all seven kingdoms.”

“Is it due to his face or the crown upon his head?” Cat asked. 

Celia giggled. “You are one to talk,” she said. “You are to marry Brandon Stark. I have _heard_ he is quite handsome too.”

“And you shall not put a dead fish in his bed if he disappoints me,” Cat said in warning. 

“You take the fun out of everything,” Celia pouted. “It would not be a big fish.”

Her sisters rolled their eyes. 

“Perhaps we shall find husbands,” Lysa said, her twin braiding her hair in the latest Southron fashion. 

“Perhaps we shall,” Celia agreed. “There are many knights to be seen and favors to give.”

“I doubt you have any favor to give,” Lysa said. “You have had your nose in a book for so long I doubt you have made any favors for even our own knights.”

“I have so,” she said. “They have been sewn most carefully and I shall not have you degreased my work.”

“You two are utterly ridiculous,” Cat said, shaking her head as she finished painting her lips. 

“Your future is already decided,” Lysa said. “We can dream, can we not?”

“Dream, yes,” Cat said. “But do not flirt shamelessly.”

“That warning is for me then,” Lysa said. “For I do not think Celia can flirt at all.”

Celia gave her twin a light shove and the girls burst into a fit of giggles. 

—

Meeting the crown prince was like a strange dream that Celia knew she was a part of. The prince was beautiful and tall. He had deep purple eyes, almost the color of the evening sky when the sun had already gone down but the it was still bright. He had long silvery blond hair that was braided simply and rested against his broad shoulders. He was everything that a prince should look like. 

He was dressed in his tournament armor, night-black plated with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned upon the breastplate with rubies. Underneath, Celia could see golden ringmail and she had heard rumors that his helm had gold, orange, and red silken streamers that resembled flames. 

He was quite handsome and Celia would not deny it, but it was not the crown prince that held her attention 

Prince Viserys Targaryen was utterly beautiful in Celia’s eyes and she felt a blush creep along her cheeks at the injustice of it all that no one had said such a thing. How could a man of such beauty be betrothed to Cersei Lannister, who was quite mean from what Celia remembered. 

He was not so tall as his brother, nor anywhere near as broad, but he had the look of a scholar. His thinner frame made him seem wise in some way and Celia had heard that the prince had wanted to be a maester once, but the king had refused to allow him the chance. He was more keen to books than his brother and Celia could see ink stains blemishing his pale fingers and Celia wished Cat had not scrubbed her own fingers clean so she might show Prince Viserys her own. 

His hair was not as long as the crown prince’s, but went just above his collar and had a slight wave to it. His eyes were the color of lilacs. He wore a simple tunic of red and black breeches. He wore no crown, but he looked more like a king than any of those with Targaryen features. 

Celia felt her heart flutter ever so slightly as he passed them by after their greeting. Lysa looked over at her and grinned. 

“Oh,” Celia blushed. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like it!!! 
> 
> Celia has a crush!!!
> 
> And Beautiful Ghosts will be published in a moment


	2. Viserys I

From a young age, Viserys knew that he was different from his family, save perhaps his mother. His father was a frightening man that had a piercing and judgmental gaze that would put a real dragon to shame. His brother was near perfect in every way that Viserys could hear his father constantly asking why he couldn’t be more like his brother. 

Rhaegar was perfect. He was tall and handsome and everything a true Valyrian prince should be. He was strong and charismatic and charming, especially when he wanted to be. Viserys knee his brother meant well, but he wasn’t blind to the obvious disappointment people felt when they saw him and expected a younger version of his brother. 

Viserys has always been too quiet, too skinny, too interested in books and studying. While his brother’s hands were covered in calluses with dirt lodged under his fingernails, Viserys had ink stains and papercuts. He had wanted to become like his Great Uncle Aemon and become a maester. He wasn’t the heir to the throne and he had asked his mother what her thoughts on it were and she had been so supportive. She had said he always loved watching Maester Pycelle since he was a boy so it simply made sense. 

But his father hadn’t allowed it. The king said it was beneath him and roared at him for not being like Rhaegar, for not being strong, for being weak. Viserys has begged his father to let him become a maester, but the king’s hand stung more than a thousand bees. 

So, Viserys did his best to become the son his father wanted while also keeping up his studies. He would never be a maester or earn a chain, but at least he could keep learning. He squired under Rhaegar until he was knighted but a few months ago, but it didn’t change much about him. Ser was under prince, so people still called him by his royal title, which made him feel foolish. He had  _ worked  _ for the title of ser. He hadn’t done anything to earn the title of prince. 

At sixteen, his father was already trying to find a good match for him. Considering how long it took for his father to find someone suitable for Rhaegar, Viserys doubted his father would take that much care, especially knowing how few people of Valyerian blood there was in and outside of Westeros. 

For now, there were talks of him becoming engaged to Cersei Lannister. She was pretty, beautiful even, but her personality turned any opinion on her looks sour. There was an air about her, about how important she was. She obviously thought her name made her important, just how his father thought his name made their family important. Cersei also made it painfully obvious that she preferred Rhaegar and thought him less of an ideal man. 

In truth, if Viserys  _ had  _ to marry, he wanted a wife who would understand him, listen to his complaints but also voice her own when she had them. He wanted a wife who thirst for knowledge and would be perfectly content in spending a day in the library or an apothecary. That was the sort of wife he wanted, someone he could understand, but could also understand him. 

—

His father coming to the tourney had not been a plan at all until the last minute. For what reason his father came, Viserys had little idea. The king had simply announced that he would be coming along and they could all say very little to dissuade him without him thinking there was some plot behind him, which, to Viserys’ knowledge, there wasn’t. It was rather awkward having their father with them and even more so because their mother wasn’t there. Viserys longed for his mother’s presence, but the king had kept the two apart since he learned that his wife had encouraged Viserys in his ambitions to become a maester. 

Viserys sat awkwardly next to his older brother, who was just as tall and prince-looking as ever. He understood perfectly well that the five year difference between them gave Rhaegar an advantage in size and all, Viserys being sixteen and Rhaegar twenty-one, but he felt so utterly pointless sitting next to his brother. 

The heir and the spare. 

People never said it to his face, but he knew it to be the truth. He had no thoughts or aspirations for the crown, yet he was allowed to live for little else. 

Viserys was an afterthought to everyone, especially girls. They tended to notice Rhaegar and give him special attention, even when Elia was sitting beside her husband with a noticeably rounded belly and a daughter in her lap. The few girls who did talk to him in these tourney situations only did so because Rhaegar attempted to pull him into the conversation.

Viserys didn’t hate his brother, he actually loved him quite a bit and Rhaegar felt more like a father to him than the king ever did. However, he had lived in Rhaegar’s shadow his entire life, if he could just be more than Rhaegar, even for just one person, it would be enough.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lysa,” a girl’s voice came from behind them. “Of course the crown prince is handsome, I am just pointing out that Prince Viserys is more appealing to my eye.”

He glanced back and saw two girls with Whent red hair walking away.

The one of the girls was rolling her eyes. “Ce, you can’t be serious.”

The girl, Ce, laughed and Viserys gulped at the sound. It was musical and high like the bells that rang for the Maiden when Rhaenys was born. “I am. Prince Viserys is much handsomer than Prince Rhaegar and you cannot change my mind on such things.”

They moved too far from Viserys and his family for him. He watched her, the girl Ce, as she walked away with the girl named Lysa. They could not be much older or younger than him. She was pretty, from what he could see. Her cheeks rosy from smiling.

“It appears someone has an admirer,” Elia’s voice flitted into Viserys’ ear. He turned to look at his brother and good sister and found them both smiling at him.

“It appears so,” Rhaegar laughed. “Do you know the lady, my dear?”

“I believe that is Lady Celia, the youngest daughter of Lord Hoster Tully and the youngest granddaughter of Lord Whent.”

_ Celia _ . The name rolled around his head.

“You should ask her to dance,” Rhaegar said.

“I couldn’t possibly...”

“It would please Father,” his brother pointed out. “And Mother, when she hears of it.”

Viserys blushed. He glanced back at where Lady Celia had gone to and wondered if he might get the chance to ask her.

—

Viserys leaned against a wall in the great hall of the keep as the festivities and dancing happened around him. He wanted to dance, he was rather good at it, actually, but few wished to dance with him. Elia assured him he was very handsome, but it was moments like this that he felt that was a boldfaced lie that his good sister said to make him feel better, although he knew she would say such a thing with the kindest of intentions. 

He wanted to find the girl, Lady Celia, and dance with her. He could see it now. He would bow to her and ask her to dance in the sort of dashing way his brother had prior to his marriage to Elia. He would smile at her kindly and maybe her cheeks would grow rosy again and she would accept his offer and she would smile. He would walk her to the center of the floor and show her that he could make them feel as though they were flying without ever really touching the ground. Perhaps she would honor him with her laugh and perhaps Viserys’ heart might be in danger for it. A Celia Tully was supposed to marry a Targaryen before. Perhaps Viserys could convince his father it was fate that he should marry her, as recompense for the previous broken engagement. 

He’d been spending a good part of the dance trying to just muster up the courage to ask. 

“Excuse me, Ser,” Viserys said as a man in Tully colors passed him. “Where might I find your liege lord’s youngest daughter, Lady Celia?”

“She’s over there,” the knight said, pointing in the direction of the dance floor. “Dancing with Brandon Stark.”

Viserys followed the direction the man was pointing and saw the girl he had been inquiring about. The Stark heir was massive in comparison to the girl. Even so, he looked like a dark knight and she a fair maid. He said something to her as he spun her around the dance floor and she was smiling and laughing and Viserys’ stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

Brandon Stark was much like Viserys’ brother. Tall and broad and handsome. Everything Viserys was not. 

“Thank you, Ser,” Viserys said to the knight. The riverman nodded and went on his way. 

He continued to watch Lady Celia as she continued her dance with Lord Brandon and then danced with Ser Arthur and Eddard Stark. The way she smiled and laughed with all of them. She looked so free. Would she smile as truly for him? Or would she even be able to say no if she wished? He was a prince and perhaps she might see his request to dance as a demand. 

Viserys went to Elia’s side and took Rhaenys into his lap, hugging his niece as he let himself wallow in his own self-pity with his good sister casting him worried glances. 

—

Viserys clapped when his brother won the jousting tournament. His brother had used quite a bit of brute force, beating Ser Barristan quite easily, but Viserys was rather impressed at how well the older man did considering his age. If he were not a member of the kingsguard, Viserys had no doubt the man would have retired. 

He glanced to his side and saw Elia smiling, Rhaenys in her lap. The maester said that the child would be a boy based on how the Dornish princess was carrying. Viserys personally could not wait for a little nephew. He enjoyed being an uncle more than he thought he would, although Rhaenys also felt like a little sister in many ways. Yes, crowing Elia when she would soon give birth to his brother’s heir would be a rather romantic thing for his brother to do.

Then, the entire tourney grew silent. 

Viserys turned and saw that his brother had not turned his horse to trot towards the royal box, where Viserys and Elia were sitting, but instead turned to a box on the opposite side of them. 

Rhaegar went to Lord Rickard Stark and his brood, where the only Stark daughter, Lady Lyanna, sat. The poor girl’s eyes were wide with shock as Rhaegar tossed a crown of winter roses into the girl’s lap. 

The air was still and it felt like no one was breathing. 

Viserys looked to Elia and found her staring ahead, her chin held high, her lips firm. But her dark eyes were moist as Viserys watched her beautiful heart break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viserys will have quite a few feelings of inadequacy because of how he was raised, but hopefully we’ll be able to get through them.


	3. Celia II

The whole world seemed silent in those minutes that Lady Lyanna had been crowned. How… This was an insult to the princess and Dorne and simply every idea of courtesy and the idea that Crown Prince Rhaegar cared about anything for policy or convention. Lady Lyanna was engaged to another man. Prince Rhaegar was married with a daughter and another child on the way. 

Celia could see Lady Lyanna’s cheeks were flushed and her mouth opened like a fish with her eyes wide with shock and confusion as the prince rode away to change out of his regalia. Her father and oldest brother began to speak to her in earnest after and Celia was too far from them to hear. 

“Poor Princess Elia,” Lysa said, her voice soft and empathetic. 

Celia turned and saw the princess holding her head high, but there was a slight curve in her shoulders as though more weight had been added to them. Where once there had been a glow about her, she now appeared dim and as cold as ice. Prince Viserys was beside her, looking at his good sister in worry and Celia could not blame him.

Was it not well known that a woman pregnant should never be put under distress? How could the prince do such a thing?

“What could this mean, Cat?” Celia asked. 

“I’m not sure,” her older sister said. “Perhaps the prince wishes to make Lady Lyanna his mistress.”

“But she’s engaged to Lord Baratheon, his  _ cousin, _ ” Lysa’s gasped. 

“I know,” she shook her head. “I can’t think of any logical reason as to why he would crown Lady Lyanna instead of his own pregnant wife.”

“Then it must be an illogical reason,” Celia said. “Perhaps it is an apology for making her cry when he played the harp?”

“That would be a stupid way to apologize, he just humiliated the princess,” Lysa said with a huff. 

“That’s why I said it was illogical.”

“The poor princess,” Cat said. “I can’t imagine what must be going through her mind. Not only did her husband give the crown to another woman, he gave it to a girl, barely a woman grown.”

Celia looked to the princess, who was speaking softly to Prince Viserys, taking careful movements to not acknowledge her husband as he sat down beside her. She passed the little princess to Prince Viserys, who held the girl tenderly in his arms before continuing to ignore his brother as well. 

She looked to Lady Lyanna who was staring into her lap, her cheeks red with shame. Celia felt sorry for the poor girl. She would surely be disliked by plenty of people before the scandal died down. 

—

The three sisters all sat in the carriage heading back to Riverrun. Their father and brother were riding outside, no doubt discussing something or another about how they should hold a tourney at some point, perhaps when Brandon comes to marry Cat. 

“I think Grandfather’s tournament was a near failure,” Lysa said with a sigh. “The whole thing turned sour after the whole…  _ incident. _ ”

She was correct of course. The rest of the time had an odd feeling about it, as though something was going to boil over and spill upon them all. Celia could hardly imagine anything good coming from discussing the incident, and no one else talked about it when they wanted to do the tourney became a rather quiet affair with very little being said at all. Lady Lyanna has been forced to sit out from the final night of dancing and Celia could hardly blame her father. While it drew some attention to her, it showed that she was not going to be persuaded by the prince to do anything. Even Lord Robert Baratheon did not dance. Instead, he sat next to his betrothed and they talked for a bit while occasionally her own brothers spoke as well. 

“I suppose some good things happened,” Celia said, trying to think of one.”

“Oh, yes,” Cat said with a knowing smile. “Lysa said you have found a new interest in boys.”

Celia blushed. “Really, must we speak of it, it is an infatuation. Plenty of girls have them.”

“Plenty,” Lysa said. “But never you. I still find it odd your attraction to him.”

“How is it odd? He’s plenty attractive.”

“Yes, but not in the traditional sense, especially when compared to his brother,” Cat said. 

“Well, his brother’s appearance was greatly altered in my mind after witnessing the treatment of his wife.” Her sisters nodded. “Besides, I have heard the prince holds similar interests as me. I merely wish I could have spoken to him.”

“And risk getting clawed at by the lady lion herself?” Lysa huffed. “No thank you.”

Celia had nearly forgotten about the rumors of Prince Viserys being engaged to Lady Cersei. Her chest tightened slightly. It shouldn’t. She had no claim to the prince and she was the third daughter in, while a noble house, nowhere near as old a family tree as the others. 

“I am well aware that nothing would have come of it, but we could have been friends at least.”

Her twin sister shrugged. “I shall not weep at your funeral.”

Cat rolled her eyes. “Please, you would sob pathetically.”

The girls giggled and Celia was happy to move on from the subject. 

—

Nearly a year passed with not much happening at Riverrun. However, they were now preparing for the Starks to visit them as they went on their way to Storm’s End where Lady Lyanna was to marry Lord Robert and the scandal of the Tourney at Harrenhal could finally be put behind them all. 

Celia punched her cheeks as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Prince Ciserys was coming as a representative for his family for the coming nuptials since Lord Robert was a cousin of the royal family. At fifteen, near sixteen, Celia had grown a little since she had last seen the prince. Her body was less like a boy’s and her curves had come in. Her red hair had turned a darker shade and looked like a river of fired gold. 

She should have allowed her feelings to move on or fade, but it was so easy to cling to an infatuation when there was no chance of it happening. It was a safe place to store her feelings until she was married to a minor lord with a little keep for her to look after. She sighed. Perhaps she would be better suited for the Silent Sisters. Although, Celia couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life in quiet solitude. 

She straightened her dress. Her father had it imported from Dorne for her nameday, Lysa has gotten a dress from Lys. She felt pretty in it and wondered if the prince might compliment her on it. She blushed. 

“Celia!” Lysa shouted, rushing into her room. She was out of breath and panting. 

Celia stood. “What is it?”

“It’s Lady Lyanna!” Her twin gasped. “She’s been taken! Prince Rhaegar has taken her!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you like the relationship between the sisters?


	4. Viserys II

It was hard to believe that he would gain at least a chance of speaking to the girl from Harrenhal after a year of her haunting the back of his thoughts. He knew he should focus on other things, such as his studies, but even then she came into his mind. 

Elia had teased him often about it when he visited her bedside. His good sister found it quite charming that he was so fixated on a girl he hardly knew when he had never shown much interest in anyone. She had threatened to order the girl to the Red Keep, but he had resisted that idea. She had also threatened to write to Lord Tully and tell him that the second prince had begun to favor his youngest daughter, but Viserys had pleaded with her enough for Elia to simply smile and promise she wouldn’t do such a thing. 

Even so, he was going to meet her officially. He needed to do something to catch her attention and let her know his interest. He knew full well that it would be awkward, him being the second prince and her being the third daughter of a lord. How would he make his slight affection known? Perhaps, he could take her hand and kiss it, letting her know that she held his attention? What would Rhaegar do to impress a girl, or Ser Arthur? The two older men were so much more charming than Viserys was. What would they do?

“My prince!”

Viserys looked at the Tully soldier who approached his traveling party. “What is it? Speak.”

“It’s your brother, my prince,” the man gasped. “Lady Lyanna and her family were heading to Riverrun when your brother abducted her while they were resting at the Trident!”

“What?!” Viserys’ heart pounded in his chest. That couldn’t be right. Rhaegar should still be with Elia, Rhaenys, and the new babe, Aegon. Why would he be anywhere near the Riverlands? “Are you certain?”

“Yes, your grace.”

Viserys turned to his men. “Spread out and find my brother and whatever men he brought with him.” He looked to one of his swiftest riders. “You, go to the Stormlands and get Robert. Tell him what has happened and let him know the crown is on his side in this.” He looked to another. “Return to the Red Keep and inform my father of what has happened.”

“Yes, your grace!”

“They couldn’t have gotten far,” Viserys shouted. “Find them! Lady Lyanna is the priority.” What if she had gotten hurt. Gods damn his brother. The scandal of Harrenhal had almost been forgotten. 

“Move out!”

—

Viserys went to Riverrun after two days of searching. He had found no trace of his brother or his party anywhere. The prince couldn’t think of where his brother might have gone or why he would have taken the Lady Lyanna from their cousin. Surely there had to be some mistake, but there was no mistaking Rhaegar’s features. He was too recognizable. 

When Viserys presented himself before Lord Hoster and Lord Rickard, he bowed, apologizing for not being able to find his brother or Lady Lyanna. 

—

“My father cannot expect me to sit here and wait,” Brandon growled. 

Viserys watched as the Wild Wolf prowled the room like the beast that served as his house’s sigil. 

“We don’t even know where Rhaegar might have gone,” the younger Stark lord said. Eddard, that was his name. He had danced with the Lady Celia at Harrenhal. “We need to wait and think—”

“As he rapes our sister?!” Brandon roared. “Every day that we do not have her is another day he defiles her!”

Viserys wished he could say otherwise, but he had no idea what his brother was doing or planning. He could not imagine his brother forcing himself on anyone, but he could not imagine Lady Lyanna would have gone so willingly without telling anyone. Viserys could not wrap his head around it. 

“I have sent a rider to my father,” the prince said. “He will do something,” he hoped. “I’m sure of it. Besides, if my brother is at the Red Keep, we shall know of it soon. We need to be patient. I promise, my brother will pay for what he has done.”

“What can you promise?” Brandon snarled. “Everyone knows your care not for politics, what could you possibly do to rectify the situation?”

“Brandon,” his brother said with warning. 

“I don’t know,” Viserys admitted. “I may not be the crown prince with any power at all, but being a prince has to count for something. I will try to make the situation as right as possible.”

Brandon Stark huffed and stormed from the room. 

“I’m sorry for my brother, your grace,” Eddard said. 

“Just Viserys,” he corrected. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think we need to address each other formally, Eddard.”

“Just call me Ned, then.”

Viserys nodded. 

“What are you planning on doing next?” Ned asked. 

“I plan to go to Dragonstone,” he said. “My brother might have gone there. It’s the closest place I can think of him going if he did not wish to go directly to our father.”

“When shall you leave?”

“Tonight. My men and I have rested enough. We need to figure this out quickly before the scandal grows.” Viserys bowed to Ned. “On behalf of my brother and my family, I apologize for any of the disgrace we have caused.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Viserys. You aren’t the one at fault.”

—

It didn’t take long for them to get to Dragonstone. Yet, it felt like it took forever. Viserys felt his entire body full with dred every mile they got closer to Dragonstone. Would his brother be there? Would Lady Lyanna be as well? What was he to say to his brother when they met? Would Rhaegar even listen to him?

“Are you alright, Viserys?” Monford Velaryon, his dearest and closest friend, asked as they let the horses rest for a moment. “You look pale.”

“I am worried about what I will have to say to Rhaegar when we find him. He’s never really taken me seriously before and he’s always been so sure of himself. How can I tell him he’s wrong for whatever has happened when he will, no doubt, be so sure he is in the right.”

“Your brother has always had every inch of him full of self-assurance. You, my friend, on the other hand have so much self-doubt that you cannot even speak your mind when you  _ know  _ you’re in the right.” Monford put his hand on Viserys’ shoulder. “You’ll find the right words when the time comes. In the end, it’s not about what you say, it’s about whether or not Rhaegar will listen.”

—

When Viserys reaches Dragonstone, he was welcomed by the Staff and informed that Rhaegar had not come by since the birth of Prince Aegon and the last he had been seen, he had been traveling back to the Red Keep with Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon. 

Viserys sent word to Lord Baratheon, the Tullys, and the Starks that Rhaegar was not at Dragonstone. 

—

Viserys spent his time looking over the painted table of the map of Westeros. Aegon the Conqueror has used it to plan how he would take over Westeros. Viserys has been fascinated with it as a child. He remembered playing around the carved wood and memorizing where everything was. Sometimes he would pretend he was a dragon free to soar above the sky and look at the land below. That had been back when he thought dragons were noble creatures. The dragons had only gotten noble the smaller they became, until they were the size of a dog, when they could no longer burn people or eat their riders. 

Now he marked all the places his brother might go, places where he had allies and places where he could hide more easily, especially since he had gotten word that his brother wasn’t in the Red Keep either. Viserys looked over the map in contemplation. His eyes passed the Red Mountains. Could Rhaegar have taken her to D—”

“Your grace!” 

The thought left him and Viserys turned his attention to the servant. “What is it?”

“It’s your father, your grace.”

“What about my father?”

“Lord Brandon Stark and some men went to confront him about Rhaegar. They were imprisoned and Lord Rickard Stark and the men’s lord fathers went to the Red Keep to speak on their son’s behalf. He… Prince Viserys… your father killed them all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One person did survive, Ethan Glover. I know this, but it might not have been the story that spread. 
> 
> I promise our mains will meet soon!


	5. Celia III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed one of the relationship tags!

When the news reached Riverrun, there was an unearthly silence around the keep. It was the same soundlessness that had happened when Lady Lyanna had been crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty at Harrenhal. It was as though no one knew what to do, as though they did not know if they should even breathe. 

Cat had locked herself in her room. They could hear her crying, but she refused even food and water from the kitchens. 

Celia and Lysa would visit Cat, talking to her through the door, but neither knew what to do for their older sister. 

They would retreat to their shared room to discuss things. 

“I still can’t believe Lord Stark and Lord Brandon are gone,” Lysa whispered. 

“I almost still expect them to come to our keep in a few days,” Celia admitted. “How could the king possibly execute one of his wardens and said warden’s heir and not expect any consequences?”

“He has broken any trust that he might have had left with the people, he and the brown prince both.”

“Poor Cat. I know they were only betrothed, but he seemed so kind and noble and everything she ever wanted in a husband.” Celia looked to her twin. “What is to happen to her now?”

“She will probably have to marry Eddard,” Lysa said. “It would keep the alliance we planned with the Starks, but… I don’t think Cat has ever actually spoken with him before.”

“I danced with him at Harrenhal,” Celia said. “He seemed kind, if a bit shy.”

“That will have to be something Cat will have rot get used to then.”

Celia bit her lip. “What do you think will happen now? I can’t imagine that the lords will just sit by as the crown prince has kidnapped a lord’s daughter and killed two lords for wanting her back. I hear that the king has called it rebellion.”

Lysa shook her head. “I don’t know what will happen next, but I feel as though the fate of Westeros has changed forever. The Targaryens cannot stay as they have been. The rest of the kingdoms have grown and changed. The Targaryens need to as well or else I don’t think they will survive whatever comes next.”

—

They all sat quietly in the great hall for their supper. Cat had been forced from her rooms and was sitting with the rest of them, although she was slumped over and her hair was frayed and without the usual braids that were so meticulously threaded together. 

“The King has ordered that Jon Arryn give him the heads of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon,” their father said. 

The four Tully siblings looked to their father in a mix of horror and confusion.

“You can’t be serious,” Lysa whispered, sounding faint. 

“I am. The king has decreed it.”

“Will Lord Arryn do it?” she asked. 

Their father shook his head. “I have called the banners. We plan to march for war. What the king did cannot stand we are now at open rebellion with the crown.”

—

Celia brushes her oldest sister’s hair carefully as one of the servants came in. 

“A letter for you, Lady Catelyn,” the older woman said, handing the letter to Celia’s sister. 

The woman left and Cat examined it. “It’s from Petyr,” she said with a sigh. 

“How can you tell?”

“The handwriting. He always writes his  _ t  _ as though it were a bird.”

“What does he say?” Celia asked, expecting her sister to open the letter and tell her. Instead, her sister pulled the candle that sat on her vanity and pulled it closer. She lifted the letter and held the corner to the flame. “What are you doing?!”

“I don’t wish to hear what he says. I can already guess it.” She continued to watch the letter burn and dropped it in the bowl that had once been filled with lemon cakes. 

“What do you think he has written?”

“He probably thinks that we have a chance to marry since Brandon is dead.” Cat’s voice strangled upon her late betroth’s name. She looked up to keep the tears from forming. “Father has already spoken with me and I am to marry Eddard.”

“Would you want to marry Petyr if you had the choice?”

Cat shook her head. “Petyr is a brother to me. That’s all. I could never feel for him as he does me. Lysa might have at one point if he hadn’t spurned her so.”

“Has Father made plans for Lysa and I?” Celia asked. 

“Lysa is to marry Stannis Baratheon,” Cat said. “I heard him discussing it with him. She might have married Lord Robert, but there is still hope that Lady Lyanna lives.”

Celia nodded. “And me?”

Cat shook her head. “No word on whom you shall marry. I think Father wishes to wait until after this is all over and then plan a match for you. There had been some discussion of you marrying Jeffory Mallister, but…”

“He was killed as well.” 

Cat nodded. 

Celia laid down the brush and wrapped her arms around her sister’s neck. “Everything will be okay, Cat. Won’t it?”

“We can only pray and hope the gods hear us Celia. That’s all we can hope for.”

—

That night, Celia found herself in the sept. Even the Septon had gone to bed and Celia felt ever so alone. The sandstone building stood amongst the garden of Celia’s late mother. Celia had vague memories of her mother carrying her around the garden, humming softly to her as she tried to get Celia to sleep. 

It was moments like this that Celia missed her mother desperately. 

She looked up at the marble paintings of the Seven and wondered if they were even listening. It was so quiet without the sound of hymns echoing against the walls. It felt as silent as it had been when Lady Lyanna had been crowned Queen of Love and Beauty and when the news of Lord Stark and Lord Brandon’s deaths. 

There was no peace in that sept. 

Celia stood, trying to think of what to do. Without anything else to do, she went to the godswood. It was a bright and airy garden full of elms, redwoods, wildflowers, nesting birds, and streams. The heart tree was a slender carved weirwood. It felt… calmer than the sept. There was a soft chirp of crickets and the tussling of leaves. It felt alive, more so than any marble painting. 

She knelt before the heat tree. 

“I’m not sure if this is how you are supposed to do it,” she admitted to the old gods. “But this is the only way I know.” Celia looked upon the sad carved face. “Please look after Lord Eddard and his younger brother. I pray that there is a heart tree for Lady Lyanna, wherever she is. I pray that this conflict ends swiftly.” She closed her eyes. “Please let everything fall in favor of the right and just.”

The wind almost seemed to answer her in the softest of sighs. 


	6. Viserys III

Viserys sat at his desk in Dragonstone. The reader who had come to inform him of what his father had done had also come with a letter from the king himself for him. 

He had never been close to his father, never wanting to. Rhaegar had been more of a father to him. Their father had always been a dragon first, a king second, a husband fifth and a father fifth, a grandfather eighth. Viserys didn’t know what filled the third, fourth, or sixth and seventh spot, but that didn’t really matter. When he was younger, he had always done what he could to make his father proud. Some part of him hoped that maybe it would take his father’s attention from his mother, but that had never worked. So, he had lost interest because nothing he did was ever good enough. 

Then, when Viserys decided what he wanted to do in life…his father hadn’t allowed him to. 

He sighed and looked at the letter, reading over it again. 

_ Prince Viserys, _

_ By order of the king, you are to hold the keep of Dragonstone until further notice. The conflict between the Targaryens and the rabble will find its end soon. Since you are not military use, stay in Dragonstone and keep it from falling into enemy hands.  _

_ Do not fail me.  _

_ King Aerys Targaryen, second of his name, king of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, protector of the realm.  _

Viserys crunched the letter in his hands and threw it into the fire. As he watched the letter burn, recalled his father once holding his hand to an open flame, wondering aloud if Viserys was a true dragon. His hand had burned, the flames licking at his skin and Viserys had cried out in pain only for his brother to take him from their father’s hold and yell at the king for hurting him. 

Yes, Rhaegar had been more of a father to Viserys than the king ever had. 

“Viserys.”

He turned to look at his friend. Monford looked just as Valyrian as the Targaryens did, but his family seemed to hold none of the insanity. Monford had been Viserys’ greatest friend and only true ally in the Red Keep. He was also Viserys’ voice of reason on the rare occasion he was asked to make a decision. 

“What do you want to do?” Monford asked. 

“My father wishes for me to stay here.”

“I didn’t ask what the king wanted, I asked what you wanted.”

“He’s my father and king, isn’t it my duty to want what he does?”

“Is that Viserys the prince speaking or Viserys the person.”

“Stop speaking in riddles Monford,” Viserys snapped. 

“I will when you stop acting like life is some great riddle you have to decipher. Now, what do you want to do?”

Viserys looked from the burning letter to the storm outside the window. He had a duty to his father, but what of his duty to the people?

—

The rebels had taken Gulltown, opening the ports for them and allowing House Arryn to support the people they chose. Jon Arryn was a good and honorable man, from what Viserys remembered. And his father had done the foolish thing of demanding Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon’s heads. Everything was going wrong and Viserys had no doubt the loss of Jon Arryn as an ally would only help the rebels more. What had Viserys’ father been thinking?

Next, the Battle of Summerhall happened almost simultaneously considering news reports of both came within a day of one another. Robert Baratheon was triumphant in his use of brute force and his charismatic approach to bringing his enemies to the side of the rebels. Viserys’ cousin had been well liked by his father and, once more, Viserys couldn’t understand what his father was doing. Robert’s father and the kind had been friends and Viserys could remember his father mourning the loss of Steffon Baratheon and even going so far as to send Lord Tywin Lannister from the capital, believing the lion had something to do with it. Yet another loss for his father. 

The Battle of Ashford was a Targaryen victory, but Viserys would barely call it that. It was a tactical retreat by Robert Baratheon to combine his forces with those of House Arryn and Stark. Viserys moved the pieces across the map as though it were a game of cyvasse. News also came that his father had stripped his Hand, Lord Owen Marryweather, of his title and land and had granted the position to Rhaegar’s friend Jon Connington. 

Viserys surveyed the board. 

_ What do you want to do? _

“Monford.”

“Yes, Viserys?”

“Call the men of Dragonstone together.”

“And what do you want me to tell them?”

“You as well as I know what we must do. We can not be on the wrong side of history. I will not stand for what has been done and I will not allow injustice to happen while I stay silent.”

“And where are we going to go?”

Viserys moved the pieces to where they were all heading. “The Stoney Sept.”

—

Viserys and his men had arrived too late to help dissuade the beginning of the battle, but they would not be stopped. He had his men dress in violet instead of the red or black of House Targaryen. 

“If you see any civilians, get them out or inside a building,” Viserys ordered. “Push back my father’s forces and aid the rebels. They’re looking for Robert Baratheon. Keep him safe for as long as possible.”

“Yes, your grace!” his men shouted. 

Viserys rode into the city as though dragonfire was coming for him. The Stoney Sept was where he would be headed. If he had the high ground he might have enough authority to call Connington off. However, Connington was Rhaegar’s man and for a brief moment, Viserys wondered if the man knew where his older brother was. 

The town was in chaos as rebels and loyalists fought in the streets and alleyways and even the rooftops. It was utter chaos and Viserys felt his blood roaring in his ears. Men stood aside for him, recognizing his Valyrian features. He needed to get to the Stoney Sept and pray that he was enough to cease the conflict for only a little while and perhaps have someone send a message to his father. He would most likely not listen, but at least Viserys would have tried, which was more than what his brother had done thus far. 

—

Viserys reaches the steps of the town’s sept and saw Jon Connington facing against Robert Baratheon in an already bloodied duel. Whether it was their blood or the blood of those that had already fallen that stained the steps they fought upon, Viserys did not know. 

He raced towards them, knocking men aside as he went. Blocking raised swords as they froze in mid-air recognition lighting their faces. He did not care. 

Robert swung his hammer, missing Connington by inches. It seemed to throw Robert slightly off balance as Viserys neared. The Baratheon lord fell down the steps as Jon Connington raised his sword. Viserys rushes forward and blocked it. While he wasn’t the best swordsman by any means, he had been Rhaegar’s sparring partner enough to block a good blow from a sword. 

“Your grace!” Connington shouted. 

“I order you to stand down, Lord Connington,” Viserys shouted. “As the prince and son of your king, I order you to stand down!”

“You would defend this rabble?” Connington asked, pushing Viserys away. “They have taken up arms against your father and brother like criminals.”

“They have risen up against a king who has killed for no reason and a prince who has kidnapped and stolen a lady from her family and betrothed. Lord Rickard and Lord Brandon only wanted their daughter and sister back, there was no need for bloodshed.”

“You are naive, Prince Viserys. They fight not for those that died, but for their own glory.”

“Fuck you,” Robert said from behind Viserys. 

“I do not want to hurt you, your grace,” Connington said as though Viserys was a child. “But do not cross me.”

“Your men are losing, Connington,” Viserys said. “Do not cross me.”

“You would turn against your father and brother?!” Connington roared and raised his sword, only for Viserys to block it again. 

“I turn against a king who cares not for his people and a prince who would see discord within the realm to please his own cock, when he has a wife and children at home.”

“You dare—”

Viserys dropped toward the ground and let his sword slice against Connington’s thigh. His father’s Hand fell and Viserys held his sword to the man’s face. “Tell my father that I am his son no longer. I will not sit behind stone walls as my people suffer for his and my brother’s arrogance. The age of dragons is over. Fear no longer forces the kingdoms to bend the knee. They rise now in hate and I will not stand for their oppression. You’ve lost Connington. Now, send my father my message before I decide to send it with your head.”

Connington left, his tail between his legs. Viserys turned and helped Robert up. 

“Why would you help us?” the Baratheon lord asked. 

“Because I can no longer hide in Dragonstone and watch as my people suffer.” He put his hand on Robert’s shoulder as the rebels began to roar in victory. “I am with you, in whatever capacity you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not the best at writing fight scenes if you can’t tell. 😅


	7. Celia IV

“... We are victorious,” Cat finished reading from the letter their father sent. 

The four Tully children breathed in a sigh of relief. It was just like their father to big down the letter with casualties and the heaviness of war, as though to remind them that it was no song that could he stopped easily or was already finished. Good men had died in that battle. Men who would never return to their parents, siblings, spouses, children, or even grandchildren. 

“Oh,” Cat said, flipping the letter over. “There’s more.”

“More?” Lysa questioned. “What more could Father possibly say? We know who has been lost and that we won. What else is there to know?”

“How about Cat reads and we actually find our,” Edmure chided. The youngest Tully and the heir to their house was too young to be off at war and the sisters knew he had wanted so desperately to join their father and uncle in battle but he was just too young. He was not yet even a man.

Celia, as well as her sisters, we’re all quietly happy that their brother could not go to war. In truth, they were happy that he was still a boy, there was no risk of losing him, not as it had been when they watched Lord Stark and Lord Brandon or their own father and uncle ride out with their men. There was always the worry that it would be the last time they would see them, but Edmure was safe at least. 

Even so, Celia felt almost useless herself. 

“In truth,” Cat continued. “We were almost lost and Robert Baratheon almost slain. However the final tide of the battle came when Prince Viserys Targaryen and his forces joined our own dressed in violet instead of the customary red and black.” At the mention of the prince, Lysa looked to Celia and took her hand, squeezing it. Celia’s heart trembled in her chest at the thought of the scholarly prince taking a sword and using it in battle. “The prince was able to save Lord Baratheon and sent Jon Connington, the lord leading the imperialist army, back with a message to his father stating that he would fight on our, the rebel’s, side. I shall return to you soon, my children and two of you shall be Tullys no longer. Thank the gods for their mercy and pray that this war will end quickly in our victory. Your loving father.”

“The prince has joined us then,” Lysa whispered, still squeezing Celia’s hand. 

“It would appear so.” The eldest Tully glanced at Celia and smiled. 

Celia felt her cheeks heat into a blush and glanced down at her free hand which was gripping her skirt tightly. She then stood, letting go of her twin’s hand. “Father and the others will be returning to us within a few days or so. I should help the maester prepare his stores for the injured.”

“I hope the prince was injured,” Lysa said, her tone teasing. “Perhaps you might get the chance to see him shirtless.”

“Why would Celia want to see the prince shirtless?” Edmure asked. 

The older Tully sisters began to giggle and Celia turned to leave to hide her blushing. She wondered if she would see the prince again, if he were coming to Riverrun or if he would go somewhere else to gather more men. She prayed for his safety either way. 

—

Her sisters were married in the sept, with Cat and Lord Eddard, who insisted on being called Ned, trading some Northern words before the Riverrun heart tree. 

Celia’s sisters were beautiful beside their rather stern looking husbands. Cat was then cloaked in grey and white, her hair looking like fire amongst the winter snow. Lysa was cloaked in Baratheon yellow and black, her hair like the sun upon the horizon. Celia prayed to the gods, both old and new, that her sisters would be happy. That their husbands would return to them and that all would be well. 

Celia glanced to the side and saw Prince Viserys standing amongst his man with Robert Baratheon and another silver haired man beside him. She had almost forgotten that Robert Baratheon and his family had the blood of dragons running in their veins. He and the prince were distant cousins. Even so, she glanced at the prince. He looked weary, but unhurt. He had not visited the maester at all since his arrival, locked in his rooms with a few men coming and going. 

She wondered if he felt lost, if the fact that he had to go against his family hurt him internally, a wound that Celia nor any maester would be able to heal. 

After watching him for a moment longer, Celia returned her gaze to her sisters and clapped when they were officially presented as Lady Stark and Lady Baratheon. 

—

Celia sat next to her brother at the feast. She thanked the gods that both Eddard and Stannis had requested that no bedding ceremony take place. If one had, Celia would not have taken part in it. She didn’t want to see any inch of her new good brothers’ skin that she didn’t have to. Besides, it was a rather vulgar custom. 

The feast was not as lively as other wedding ones, but it was to conserve food and supplies for the coming war. Who knew how long it would take before it was over. It could last months to years. Who was to say?

“This is where childhood ends,” Edmure said next to her. 

Celia was startled from her thoughts. “What?”

“We can’t go back from this. I think that’s when childhood ends, when you can’t go back.”

“Then was everyone here a child up until now?” she asked, almost teasing. 

“The king is supposed to be a father to his people. I suppose we were lost in childhood for a while now,” he said. “Now we must carve our own math.”

Celia looked out amongst the crowd. How many of these men would be ghosts by the time the war was finished?

—

Celia helped with the packing of herbs and remedies and bandages that would be used for the soldiers when they traveled. She made sure to label everything. Maester Arthur told her that every soldier became a healer when they needed to be and she felt labeling everything would be helpful. 

She looked at the men whose laughs echoed across the halls of her home and once more wondered how many would become ghosts before the war was out. 

“Maester?”

“Yes, my child?”

“How many healers shall be going?”

“Not many,” he admitted. “We do not have the approval of the Citadel and we can request no more maester’s to come to our aid.”

“Will you be going as well?”

The man shook his head. “I must stay behind. By the grace of the gods, your sisters might be with child and I am needed here if they are.”

Celia nodded and continued her work. How many lives could Maester Arthur save if he were able to? How many would she?

Even if it was just one person, wouldn’t that be enough?

It would to whoever that soldier would go home to. 

Celia slipped the varnish used for sealing the leather pouches into her pocket. A Tully girl would not be able or allowed to help, but a Rivers girl would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our OTP will “meet” officially next chapter.   
> Then, the moments between them will multiply! The LONGING!!!!


	8. Viserys IV

“Thank you for joining our cause,” Lord Hoster Tully said. 

“There’s no need to thank me,” Viserys said kindly. “I’m only doing what is right. This rebellion is against a monarchy that no longer cares for the people.” He didn’t think it ever truly cared to begin with. “What my brother did and, more importantly, what my father did, cannot go unpunished. They have broken every vow a king and prince should make to their kingdom and their family. It cannot stand.”

He still couldn’t understand his brother and he refused to even attempt to understand his father. They were bringing about the ruin of their own house. For two people who had cared so much about the Targaryen name, they were certainly ruining it now. 

“Even so, thank you, your grace,” Lord Jon Arryn said with a slight bow. “To have someone of the royal family on our side means a lot.”

Viserys nodded. “This isn’t like a Dance of Dragons or a Blackfyre Rebellion. This is about righting the wrong my family has done against you all. As it stands, my father is no longer in his right mind to be king and my brother… I don’t even know where he is or what he is even doing. Either way, I am with you, regardless of where our battles lead.”

“Your father will call you a traitor,” Ned said solemnly. 

“I would be a traitor to myself if I didn’t do what I felt was right.” Viserys rolled out the map upon the table. “Our goal should be to eventually take King’s Landing, however if we are able to draw my brother out in any way, that would be our greatest advantage.” He looked to Ned. “We should send out our less experienced fighters out to search for any trace of my brother or your sister. At the very least she would be one less pawn my brother or father might use against us.” He sighed. “My biggest fear is of my good sister, Princess Elia. I doubt my father will let her and the children far, which means we can’t count on the Martells for aid.”

“What of the Lannisters?” Robert asked. “You’re engaged to their daughter, aren’t you?”

Viserys shook his head. “It’s not official and, even if it was, I doubt Lord Tywin will make a move until he is certain which side is winning. We can’t put our faith in people who may or may not help. That includes the Ironborn. I doubt they will help either.”

“So it’s just us then?” The Blackfish asked. 

“We are still a force to be reckoned with,” Ned said. “We just need to plan it out well and we should be able to win.”

“By the grace of the gods,” Viserys murmured. 

The other men nodded. The war was only just beginning. 

—

“Cousin,” Viserys said, dipping his head before sitting down next to Robert amongst the men in the great hall. People were still celebrating a bit from the wedding between House Tully and Houses Stark and Baratheon. Ned and Stannis were with their new wives, no doubt hoping to provide an heir before they went. 

Although Viserys could probably sit at the high table, he preferred to sit amongst his men, something Robert seemed to prefer as well. He felt like a child compared to the older more experienced men and he felt as though he were back in his father’s small council.

_ Such a disappointment. _

“You get tired of all those grey hairs?” Robert asked, offering Viserys a flagging of ale.

“I suppose I did,” he replied, taking it. “I prefer to be out here with you all. I... I don’t want to be Rhaegar, and staying away from you all would have been what he would do. He always prefered his own company.” He looked at Robert. “I wish I could tell you what my brother was doing, but I just don’t know. He never even spoke of Lady Lyanna after Harrenhal. I thought, after a while, that perhaps he had crowned her as Queen of Love and Beauty because it was her first tourney and was the only noblewoman who hadn’t been to one before. But now…”

“You aren’t to blame for your brother’s actions. Just as you aren’t to blame for your father’s.”

“Even so.”

“Any news on the queen?” Robert asked. 

“She had announced a pregnancy just before I left,” Viserys admitted. “It hasn’t been made public yet with my mother’s… history. I heard she would be sent to Dragonstone. “I should be there with her. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Here I am worrying about my mother when we don’t even know where your betrothed is.”

“It’s okay to worry about your mother,” Robert said. “I would worry for you if you didn’t.”

“It’s not just her. I worry about Elia and the children too.” He closed his eyes. “How Rhaegar could just abandon them...”

“Hey,” Robert put his hand on Viserys’ shoulder. “Don’t do that to yourself. There’s only so much you can do.”

“You probably hate us,” Viserys glanced around his cousin. “For what my brother’s done. Same with Ned and what my brother and father have done.”

“My brothers, you and the queen are the only family I would claim,” Robert told him seriously. “I don’t count the children or Princess Elia because Rhaegar has lost the right to them and deserve to be seen as Martells with no taint of dragon’s blood running through them. You're not alone, cousin. You are not alone.”

—

“Are you alright, your grace?”

Viserys turned and wondered if her cheeks were turning red. Celia Tully stood before him, her head cocked to the side. “Yes,” he replied quickly. “I’m fine. I just… got lost.” Gods, he wanted to die. This. These were his first words to the woman he had been thinking about for over an entire year. Gods, he was pathetic. 

“Where are you trying to go?” she asked. 

Viserys glanced at his feet, too embarrassed to look at her. “Ah…” He wasn’t even lost. He wanted to knock his head against a wall. “My rooms.” Gods, he sounded pathetic. 

“Oh,” she said. “I can show you the way to go.” She smiled at him. Well, he thought she smiled. He couldn’t even muster the courage to look at her. “Follow me.”

Viserys did as she bid and followed her. They didn’t talk at all and Viserys began to spiral, thinking of something interesting or gallant to say. Perhaps saying that he would fight for her and her family. Perhaps he could ask her to make him a favor and promise to wear it upon his sword pummel or his helm. He could do something like that. Perhaps he could ask for her token and promise to return it to her after the war was over and then he would tell her that her favor helped him get through the rebellion. 

“My—”

“Here we are, your grace,” she said kindly. She gave him a deep curtsy. “If you need anything, please let me know. I must be off to help the maester prepare the medicine and supplies for the soldiers.”

Then, she was gone. 

Viserys closed the door behind him and threw himself onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow and shouted in embarrassment. 

Gods. 

—

Lord Tully stood amongst his people. “Tomorrow, we head out to fight for our right as a people to rise against those who would abuse us and view us as lesser than dirt beneath their feet. Tomorrow we will make friends and we shall meet new enemies. Tomorrow some of us will live and some of us will die. May songs be sung of this day.”

“If only we had more to fight by our side,” Robert shouted from his spot next to Viserys. “If all who vowed in fear of the Mad King found courage as we have.”

The men around them cheered and Viserys stood. 

“My cousin speaks true, it would be nicer to have more men at our side,” his voice shook slightly, but he felt it needed to be said. His family had thrown the kingdom in chaos. He needed to speak his mind and let them know of the future they might all have. “However, if our endeavor is doomed to fail, then it is better that our numbers are fewer, that the people we fight for shall still be here to make our kingdom greater. It is for them that we fight, not just for our own glory. However, if we are blessed to be triumphant, then there is more honor in that for we have done the impossible. Let those who come from this rebellion stand tall when a day like this is remembered. Let the halls ring out in remembrance of this day where we have all joined in brotherhood should the mention of the Call to Riverrun be mentioned. Let those who live to see themselves old and grey yearly say on the eve of this day remember the man they were sitting here amongst the river stones. Let them remember the men and friends they stood beside on this night and the songs we have sung. Let them show their scars and announce that they were earned in the price of our freedom. Old age makes us forgetful, but may we never forget today when all else has been gone from our mind. Let the story of tonight be shared, for tomorrow more night join our ranks, but tonight, we are the brothers that we have and we shall tell the story of tonight to all those who will come after us.” Viserys drew his sword and raised it in the air. “For freedom and honor! For those who come after. May the gods find favor in us all.”

The men began to shout and cheer. It was as though his ears had been closed until he was finished and a loud roar erupted from the men surrounding him. 

“All hail King Viserys Targaryen!” a man shouted. “Third of his name!”

Viserys stood frozen as more began to shout his name. “King Viserys!” they shouted. “King Viserys!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wonders why Viserys won’t recognize Celia later, it’s because our little nerd was too embarrassed to look at her (and she dyes her hair).
> 
> Viserys’ speech at the end was inspired by the “Saint Crispin’s Day Speech” from Henry V by Shakespeare.


	9. Celia V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempted sexual assault in this chapter.  
> Skip the parts between “pretty girl” and “almost like coming back to herself”  
> The assault does not happen. Only attempted. Tell me if I need to add a tag.

It was chaos. 

Screams of pain and cries of war echoed across the moors as bodies ran into each other and horses fell upon their riders and those below them. 

Songs had always echoed of the triumphs and glories of battle, but this was no song and the pages couldn’t be turned to skip the bloody forked that laid before her. 

Celia’s dyed hair was caked in dirt and her voice was hoarse at shouting orders and her arms were aching from dragging men as best she could away from danger as she did her best to heal them. 

She was just Celia Rivers, a girl with no family looking after her and no husband to worry for her. The other healers took to her kindly, but she was the youngest and the swiftest of them all, as the battle raged on, she was the one ordered to go out amongst the field and help bandage and stop wounds. 

It was chaos, as though all seven Hells had opened and descended upon them all. She could barely recognize friend or foe if it weren’t for the red of the Targaryen Loyalists’ armor. 

She rushed back to the rebel camp to refill her supplies and began to race for the battle once more, only to have her ankle grabbed. 

Celia fell to the ground and felt her head rattle as her head collided with the ground. When she blinked herself onto better awareness, she realized she was being dragged, her bag of supplies slipping from her shoulder. Celia began to kick and saw that she was being held by a Targaryen soldier, and not one that was on the side of the rebels. She kicked his hand away and Celia began to scramble away and screamed when he grabbed her by the skirts and ripped at them, causing her to collapse to the ground. 

“Pretty girl,” the man said as she clawed at him. He was climbing over her, pushing at her skirts. “Such a pretty girl. I figured I would lay and wait for the battle to end, but a man has to cool his warring blood, one way or another.”

“Stop!” Celia shouted. “Stop!”

He continued to pull at her clothes as Celia began to scramble, begging him to let her go as his lips descended upon her neck. His hand went further up her leg and she could hear him fiddling with his belt. She could feel a hardness press against her leg and her mind scattered into a thousand different directions. Her pushing hands came upon the hilt of a dagger and she yanked it out, cutting at his stomach. 

“Bitch!” He roared, but Celia did not give him time to fight her. 

She got atop him, straddling him and began to stab, tears welling up in her eyes she plunged the dagger into his chest until he was struggling no longer. 

Almost like coming back into herself, Celia’s mind returned and she scrambled off him, dropping the dagger, her heart thundering in her chest. She grabbed her supplies and ran back to battle, the blood still staining her hands. 

She had to keep moving. She had to keep moving or the chaos would swallow her. 

A flash of silver hair caught her eye and Celia turned to see her king laying upon the ground, clutching at his face, blood seeping through his fingers. 

She made her way for him. She was at his side in what felt like an instant as she began babbling to him. He had been slashed in the face, but it hadn’t cut through his nose or eye. She began tending to him as rebel soldiers protected their king. 

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, her voice wavering. “It’s going to be okay.”

She didn’t know if her words were for him or herself. 

—

Celia continued to help the king as the battle finally died down into a rebel victory. She cleaned the wound and stitched it, before bandaging it carefully. 

“What’s your name?” the king asked. 

“Celia Rivers,” she said automatically. She had trained herself to say so for the past month. Lysa had helped just before the men left. Her twin knew that Celia could not be stopped. She even helped keep Cat away, or at least promised to for a day so Celia might have a head start. 

“Thank you, Lady Celia,” he said kindly. His voice had a Southron lit that was only from nobles that came from the capital and Celia wondered briefly of her own accent might give her away. 

“I am no lady, your grace,” she said, finished dressing the wound. 

“I would call you the Maiden herself if it pleases you,” he said. “You have held a sharp object to my face quite easily, even though your hands shake now. I thank you again.”

“I am only doing my duty, your grace,” she said softly. She pulled her hands away, but he took one in his own and examined it. His hand was rough, but not as rough as the man who had grabbed her. She wondered if his calluses were from the sword or from a pen. 

“This blood is not your own,” he said. 

“It’s not,” she assured him, pulling her hand away. “You need not worry for me, your grace.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said to her gently. “War is a frightening thing, especially for a person with gentle hands and a heart that wants nothing more than healing. It’s okay to be scared.”

Tears began to prick at Celia’s lashes as they grey heavy and slid down her cheeks. 

“Give the lady her privacy,” the king said softly, and Celia could hear the men turned to show her their backs as she continued to cry, bending over to bury her face in her knees as the king stroked her hair soothingly. 

—

After she had cried herself out, she had curtsied before the king and rushed off to help with the other wounded. However, she did stop before the head healer, Tom, and asked that she be given a pair of trousers. He had taken one look at her and nodded before telling her to go get an extra pair from one of the other healers. 

Celia tended to the men who were resting, going over their bandages to make sure that nothing was bleeding and nothing had opened. It was a constant problem, men not wanting to sit still. 

“How is everything?”

She froze for only a moment before standing up and saw the king standing behind her. King Viserys seemed to be doing well, his bandages freshly changed. Other than that, he looked cleaned, which was always necessary. He looked well. 

“The men are tired, your grace,” she said gently. “They will do well with rest.”

“My men found a Loyalist soldier dead near the camp, between here and the battlefield,” he told her carefully. 

Celia froze.

“Janos Slynt was his name.”

“Was he a friend, your grace?”

“No,” the king shook his head. “I knew his name and his reputation. I have no doubt that he deserved the death he got.”

Celia released a breath. 

“You had no reason to tell me this,” she said softly. 

“My brother used to tell me that taking the life of a man is the one thing you can never take back. You can give a man a new horse or a woman a new dress, but you cannot give a man his life back once it has been snuffed out.” He looked at her kindly, his violet eyes gentle. “Where is your husband?” he asked. “Surely he must worry for you.”

“I have no husband, your grace,” she said swiftly. 

“You did not follow him on the field?”

She shook her head. “I could not stand by and do nothing when I am able to. You said it was for us, the people, that you fight. It is an honor to mend you once the fighting is done.”

King Viserys smiled at her kindly. “You speak well, Lady Celia Rivers. Thank you again. It does a soldier good to know that there is kindness when the world can seem so chaotic.”

He dipped his head to her and left, his men following behind him. 

—

While heart trees were not as numerous in the rest of the south, the Riverlands had more than most. Celia found one near the camp, hearing of it from some of the Northmen she had tended to. They had asked that she might cut locks of their hair and bury it at the base of the tree so that the Old Gods might see them. 

She knelt before the tree and did as she was asked. 

She prayed as well. Prayed for the men and the boys who had turned into men far too quickly. She prayed for the other healers. She prayed for the women and children back in their homes. 

But most of all, she prayed for King Viserys. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have planned all of the fic and it shall be 24 chapters with an epilogue as the last chapter. I hope you guys will enjoy the rest of the journey!


	10. Viserys V

He found himself making excuses to see Celia Rivers as often as he was able. He asked her to change his bandages and to check on the progress of his wound. 

She was sweet. He had never really talked to women before as he did with the healer, having never properly had a conversation with Celia Tully at all while he was in Riverrun. He wondered what it was with him and women named Celia. 

She had a sharp wit as well. She was funny and caring and a good woman. He enjoyed her company and continued to make excuses to see her, even after his wound had healed properly. 

He liked being with her. Liked being around her and just talking. She spoke to him with respect as her king, but she seemed to speak her mind when she wished, never in a rude way, but gently. 

After his wound healed, his excuse became asking about the men in her and the other healers’ care. She would tell him and even show him where the more badly injured soldiers were so that he might sit next to them and talk to them. 

He found out about their families and recent births. He and Monford went over names later in the evening, making sure that the families of falling men might not have to worry if their main provider might not return. 

It helped him feel useful. He wasn’t the best strategist when it came to battle and he wasn’t afraid to say so. He could deal in hypotheticals just fine, but the lives of his men were on the line. He couldn’t use them as sacrificial pawns. He refused to be like his father. 

“You aren’t like your father,” Celia told him. “I don’t know the other king, but I think you are a good one.”

He had felt as light as air when she had told him that. To the point that Robert joked about it with him. To the point that Jon felt the need to interfere. 

“You shouldn’t go around becoming attached to random bastards, your grace,” Jon said when Monford has already gone to bed. 

Whatever lightness Viserys had been feeling fizzled out quickly. “Her name is Celia Rivers and she is one of my finest healers. You should hear how the men talk about her. They love her.”

“They love her because she gives them milk of poppy and other medicines to keep the pain away.” The older man sighed. “It is alright to fancy a girl. It’s alright to bed—”

“I will _not_ bed a woman who isn’t my wife.”

Jon held up his hands in surrender. “Regardless, you can’t go making eyes at a girl with no background. You are to be our king and that means you need a queen that can stand by your side with the backing of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.” Jon put his hand on Viserys’ shoulder. “Think on it.”

—

Word came that Rhaegar had returned to King’s Landing and was readying his own army to head out. No word of Lyanna Stark had reached them at all. 

While Viserys had heard that his mother was sent to Dragonstone, he hadn’t heard anything of Elia and the children being sent there or to Dorne. His stomach twisted at the thought of his good sister and his niece and nephew being used as hostages. 

Then, it dawned on him that he might have to face his brother on the battlefield. 

“Perhaps you won’t even see him,” Celia told him gently when she was tending to a small knick he had gotten training with the men. “The battles are always rather large. You might not even meet him there.”

“I feel like I will. Whatever battle we meet on, I feel like it’s only possible for one of us to come out alive. I feel it in my bones.”

“Your grace—”

“They say that every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin.” He looked up at her. “Where do you think my coin has landed?”

Celia put the medicine and bandage down and cupped his face in her hands. “A man who does not ask for leadership, but was willing to fight for his people regardless is a good man. I was there when you rallied the men. You never once asked to be king. They _called_ you to be their king. Aegon the Conqueror needed dragons to get the North to bend the knee. You had them kneel at your words alone. That’s a true king, one that leads on action, not just from an ugly iron chair.”

Viserys laughed. “It _is_ rather ugly.”

She smiled and laughed and he found it beautiful. 

—

“Your grace.”

Viserys turned and tall, thin man with a long solemn face standing before him. “Yes?”

“My name is Bonifer Hasty, your grace.”

“I recognize that name.” Viserys thought for a moment, trying to place it. “My mother spoke of you once.”

Something in the man’s counticance changed, as though life had been brought into his lungs and he seemed to stand taller. “I knew your mother well in our youth. I pray to the Maiden that she is well in these hard times.”

“She’s in Dragonstone,” Viserys told him. “From what the reports have told me she’s with child again and she’s past the miscarriage stage. Tell me, my lord, what is it you have come here for? I usually recognize most of the knights and lords who have sworn under me, but I do not recognize you.”

Hasty got on his knee and laid his sword at Viserys’ feet. “I wish to pledge myself to you. You seem like a good man. A man with his mother’s heart. That is the type of king I wish to serve.”

—

“We’re heading to the Trident soon,” Viserys told her. 

Celia had begun wearing more trousers and Viserys found that he rather liked it. More so that a man might not grab her by the skirt as Janos possibly had. He ordered all the women who were a part of the camp to wear trousers, even the few camp followers that had appeared. He would rather the women be able to run if they needed to, without the hindrance of a skirt. 

“We are lucky that we have yet to move so much,” Celia said. “The Loyalist army would march too often and are then exhausted because of it.”

Viserys nodded in agreement. 

Celia returned to him and checked on his wounded shoulder. “It looks fine, your grace. I think it should be fine. No infection or anything. Remind the men to change their clothes when they need to and to always clean their weapons after practicing.”

“Of course, my lady,” he joked. She blushed and did not correct him. “I count you as a friend, Celia,” he said gently. “Might you call me by my name?”

“It wouldn’t be proper.” Her cheeks reddened. 

“Please.”

She chewed her lip carefully before turning to him, her hair like fire in the candlelight. “Viserys.”

His heart thundered in his chest and he put his hand against her cheek. “Again?”

“Viserys.”

It was like gravity, the way he felt pulled to her. She closed her eyes and his began to as well as he felt her sweet breath upon his face. 

Clenching his free hand, he pulled away. 

“Forgive me, Celia. I can’t. I don’t… I don’t wish to lead you on when I can’t promise you anything.”

Celia said nothing, but nodded, collecting her things and then leaving the tent. Viserys fell back on his cot and covered his eyes with the heel of his hands. 

“Shit,” he muttered. He was a goner.


	11. Celia VI

Celia’s cheeks were like coals. They were burning, whether from embarrassment or disappointment, she didn’t know. The king had almost kissed her. Viserys had almost kissed her and she had desperately wanted him to. 

Gods, she was so… 

She’d never been kissed before and she almost…

She couldn’t even complete the thought. 

Celia was glad that the king… Viserys has pulled away at the last second. While they had become friends in the way that one forms companionship in battle, she was still being dishonest with him. He still thought her a bastard and a woman of no birth and consequence. She was nothing in his eyes, or should have been. Such a dalliance would not have besmirched his reputation at all and she, being supposedly a girl of base birth, would have all to gain and very little to lose. Yet, he had treated her as an equal, as a girl of noble birth and deserving of respect and of sweet promises.

She wondered if he would forgive her once he learned the truth. She wondered if he might kiss her if and when he did. 

She ran her shoulder into a soldier. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, ser,”

“Celia?”

She turned. “Yes.”

Celia then realized the stupid mistake of using her own name. 

“What in the seven hells!” Ned stood before her, his eyes wide with shock. Before Celia could do anything remotely intelligent like flee, he took her firmly by the arm. “What are you doing here?!”

Celia opened her mouth to try and think of something moderately clever, but nothing came out. 

“I’m taking you to your father,” he said, pulling her along. 

—

“Ned,” Viserys said as he looked at Celia in confusion. “What is going on? Why have you brought my healer here?”

“Your—” Ned stopped himself. “It doesn’t matter.” He looked to Celia’s father. “Lord Tully, I believe someone has been lying to you about the well-being of your daughters.”

Her father looked at her, jaw dropped. “Celia Tully!” He shouted, standing along with her uncle. “What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?!”

“Wait a moment,” Robert Baratheon said. “Celia Tully.” He looked to Ned. “The Celia Tully that threatened time put a dead fish in Brandon’s bed if he ever disrespected Cat?”

Celia felt her cheeks burn even more than they had when Viserys had almost kissed her. 

“Your grace,” he father said. “Let me introduce my youngest daughter, Lady Celia Tully, who should be home right now and not wearing trousers or dying her hair black.”

“Father—” Celia began, but he cut her off. 

“I let you practice medicine, I indulged in your wish to become a woman of some greater learning. I did not allow you to come upon a battlefield and wear trousers.”

She burned with shame and embarrassment and looked to the king and found him staring, but she could not interpret the look that he gave her. 

“Forgive me, your grace,” her father said. “I must speak to my daughter privately.” He turned to his brother. “Let me know what has been decided later.”

—

“How could you put yourself in such danger?!” her father shouted once they returned to the privacy of his tent. “How could you have your sisters lie for you?!”

“Father, I had to help!” She argues back. “I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. I have saved countless lives, Father. I have saved the lives of our men and at least eased the suffering of many in their final moments. I will not be sorry for helping our people.”

“And what would have happened if one of these men had taken you to their bed, forced you down and taken your virtue?!”

Celia flinched and felt the tears prick at her eyes. She could still feel the man’s hot breath upon her neck. She looked at her father once she realized he was silent and found him pale and eyes full of horror. 

He took her arms gently in his hands. “Tell me no one has touched you,” he begged. “Tell me that no man has done such a thing. Tell me that you have not been hurt.” There were some tears in his eyes as well. “I am one of the few men blessed to not have to force their children into battle. Tell me I have not lost you in such a way.”

“You have not,” she told him, her voice strangled. “I… a man tried, Father.”

“Gods,” his voice came out hushed. 

“But he didn’t… I killed him, Father.”

All anger seemed to leave him altogether as he slid his hands down her arms and took her hands and held the palms up to him. He simply looked weary. “No father wants blood on their child’s hands. We fight so our children do not have to.” He closed his hands and closed her hands as well. “When we get to the Trident, you will be sent back to Riverrun.”

—

She managed to slip from her father’s tent as he and her uncle discussed the plans for the Trident. Her identity was apparently not widely known yet, which surprised Celia greatly. If they were in a keep, the woman would have already had it all over by then. Perhaps the men were too tired to care or simply didn’t have time yet to know. 

She went to Viserys’ tent and his friend, Monford, let her in. He nodded his head respectfully and she smiled back at him curtsying. 

“Your grace?” she asked, coming in. 

The king stood from his desk and bowed to her slightly. “I thought I said to call me by my name,” he told her gently as he came up to her. 

“I have lied to you, your grace,” she told him. “I do not deserve your kindness or your friendship.”

“Celia.” Her name sounded like honey upon his lips and it sent a thrill up her spine. “Look at me.”

She did so slowly and found him very close. 

“You lied for a noble reason. You have healed my people and looked out for them. You have done good work. You lied to help people.” He brushed her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, the calluses of his fingertips crazed against the shell of her ear. His breath was warm against her own and he pressed his forehead against hers. “Say my name,” he begged. “Please.”

“Viserys,” she whispered. 

His lips pressed tenderly against her own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secret is out and next the Battle of the Trident and Viserys meets Rhaegar upon the battlefield.


	12. Viserys VI

Her lips were slightly chapped, but they were as soft as velvet as he pressed his own to hers. The way she said his name, the way her mouth moved and it seemed to roll off her tongue. 

He had been shocked and a little angry, at first, after learning of her deception. He felt a tinge of betrayal that she had lied to him, that she had felt that he couldn’t be truthful. He had felt embarrassed then, that he hadn’t been able to recognize her as the girl he had obsessed over for almost a year. Then, he had felt elation. 

She was a girl of noble birth. She was a girl who would be allowed by his side without a snide remark being passed her way. 

There was nothing that was able to keep her from him. 

So, when she came to his tent, he could barely hold himself back. 

Celia’s arms wrapped her arms around his neck and he let his own wrap around her waist, pulling her as close as he possibly could without his actions being led to his southron appendage. 

She bummed against his legs in content and Viserys opened his mouth to her hesitantly and then she plundered it. Such a kiss was unrehearsed and new. He had never kissed a girl before and he believes she had never kissed a boy either. It was new for both of them and yet…

He pulled away first, panting and he could feel her sweet breath upon his lips as she panted as well. 

She was beautiful, she had always been. 

“I really hope you don’t have a thing for dark hair,” she murmured against his lips. 

Viserys was so taken aback by the statement that he tossed his head back and laughed before bringing his forehead against hers again. “I liked your red hair too.”

“You did?”

“I did,” he said gently. “I had thought about you for a full year, ever since Harrenhal, but I was too much of a greenboy to ask for your favor before I went to battle.”

It was amazing that this only made her blush more. “Truly?”

He hummed and kissed her again as gently as before. 

—

As they drew closer to the Trident, men came forward to tell Viserys and his men that his brother was leading the Targaryen forces, no doubt hoping to cross the river. 

“We can’t let them cross,” Ned said. “If we fail, we might lose this war.”

Viserys tightened his hands into fists. He looked to Lord Tully, Lord Brynden, and Lord Arryn. “What do you think we should do?”

“We need to be smart about it,” Lord Brynden said. “While they have the numbers, they aren’t necessarily fighting for a cause. They’re fighting for a king and a prince.” 

Viserys looked upon the map. His brother would be there. He would have to fight his brother wouldn’t he? Perhaps he could make Rhaegar see reason? 

“Capturing Prince Rhaegar may be the only way to end this quickly,” Lord Arryn said. 

“He won’t go down without a fight,” Robert said. “If he thought what he had done was wrong,” the man’s voice was tight. “If he thought what his father did was wrong, he would have joined us as Viserys did. He’ll put up a fight and he might not be willing to be taken alive. Anything can happen in battle. Anything.”

Viserys closed his eyes, begging the gods that he did not have to become a kinslayer that day. 

—

Viserys had been right in thinking that there would be no help from the Dornishmen. He did not begrudge them for it. His actions would not have consequences against Elia and the children, but theirs would. He had ordered the men ahead of time to only kill the dornishmen if they had to, incapacitate them would be better, especially any that wore house crests. He hated that he had to put the lives of nobles above the smallfolk, but wiping out a house would destabilize areas that were under their care and create a power vacuum later on. He could only imagine what might happen in those situations and the smallfolk would most definitely suffer in that case. 

Robert was calling out orders, his voice more booming than anyone else’s. 

Viserys continued to rally his men as he fought. 

He hoped that he might not have to meet Rhaegar on the battlefield, but he feared it all the same.

—

“Viserys!”

He turned and saw his older brother cut through one of the Valemen, his rubies breastplate shining through the grime of the Trident mud. Viserys was exhausted, the battle going for much longer than anticipated. His silver hair was caked with mud and his cheek smeared with blood. 

Viserys ran his sword through one of his brother’s men before meeting his brother with his sword. 

“What are you doing?” Rhaegar shouted. “Why have you risen up against Father?”

“Why have you and Father forsaken every path we made when Aegon conquered these lands?! You kidnapped a lady, father murdered a warden and his heir. How can I stand by and do nothing when our people deserve someone who sides with them!?”

“I’m doing this to protect them!” his brother roared. “The dragon needs three heads. If the dragon dies, then who will be there to protect them?”

Viserys blocked his brother’s sword jarring his shoulder, not even comprehending what Rhaegar was speaking of. “How is this protecting them? Father is ruling out of fear, you could have persuaded him to let Rickard and Brandon Stark go. Where were you when they died?! Mother could be dying in Dragonstone! Where have you been?! What of Elia and the children?! What if Rhaenys and Aegon?!”

“It is for them, I fight! Do not speak as though you know me!”

“I thought I did. I thought I knew the man that you were, the man I admired and wished to emulate. But I do not know the man who stands before me.” Viserys’ sword made contact with his brother’s shoulder. “I will not let you or Father destroy our home or our people. Don’t let your pride get in the way of doing what is right by them!”

“If you are not with me, then you’re against me,” his brother said, knocking Viserys’ sword from his hand and kicking him in the chest. Viserys fell hard on his back and sat himself up and began to push himself back, his hands sliding against the mud as Rhaegar steadied his sword and raised it. “I will not let you get in the way!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun! Dun! DUUUUUUN!


	13. Celia VII

Celia did what she could to help with the wounded coming in, but there were so many. It was as though the seven hells had opened up and spilled out amongst them, screams of anger, terror, and pain stretched across the Trident like an untuned lute. 

“Celia!” One of the other healers shouted. “We need more bandages!”

She did as she was told, running across the camp to find more bandages and fretting as she heard the fighting grow closer and closer. 

She had barely managed to get the bandages and bring them to the other healers when the final hell seemed to break loose. 

Colors of red, gold, and orange poured into the camp as Martell forced began to overtake them, pushing the rebel men back. 

People began screaming and shouting as the wounded were moved and those who could stand tried to fight. 

It was carnage. It was hell. 

This was war. 

—

Celia did what she could on the battlefield after being pushed out of the camp by Martell forces. 

She did what she could, not caring whose side they were on. A soldier was a soldier. Besides, everyone was so caked in mud and blood that she couldn’t tell the armor apart. 

It was getting hard to breathe. It was like all the air was being sucked from them as they all seemed to crash together. Her head felt light and her body felt heavy all at once. It needed to stop. It needed to stop. 

—

Celia stumbles through the battlefield and, suddenly, everything began to slow down. 

She saw Rhaegar standing before Viserys, their swords clashing. Viserys was the smaller of the two, encased in his brother’s shadow. They were speaking, yelling, but Celia couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then, Rhaegar knocked the sword out of his brother’s hand and kicked him in the chest. Celia began to scramble towards the two as Viserys fell and began to push himself away from Rhaegar, who raised his sword above his head. 

“Viserys!” Celia screamed. 

She had been so focused on the man she loved, so focused on him that she hadn’t noticed Robert coming up beside them, hammer swinging. Rhaegar was hit squarely in the chest, his breastplate of rubies crushing and scattering all around once as the prince flew back, his sword dropping next to Viserys’ shoulder and slicing into it. 

Celia ran for Viserys and cupped his face in her hands before she checked him over. He was pale, as though all the blood had drained from his face. She was saying his name over and over, but he didn’t seem to hear her. His gaze was firmly on his brother’s body as Robert shouted that Prince Rhaegar was dead and the battle was over. 

Tears began to spill down Viserys’ cheeks and he clutched at her, burying his face in her chest and screamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viserys didn’t kill his brother, but he’s going to have to live the rest of his life knowing that his brother was ready to kill him.


	14. Viserys VII

Rhaegar stood over him, sword raised. Viserys was begging. Begging for what, he did not know. 

His brother had been like a father to him, a mentor, a friend. 

Rhaegar’s sword began to descend upon him and—

“No!” Viserys screamed, shooting up from his bed. Panic gripped at his heart and Pain seared through his shoulder and he could remember the pain of his brother’s sword slicing into his shoulder. 

“Viserys,” a calm voice came to him and he saw Celia sitting on his cot next to him. Her hair was loose, and her blue eyes had dark circles underneath them. “You’re okay,” she said gently. “You’re okay.”

Viserys wrapped his arm around her and she held him close. A sob ripped at his throat, more painful than his screams and he wanted to bury himself inside her, wishing none of this had ever happened.

—

Viserys knee he had to make hard decisions about what to do next. If it were up to him, he would stay in Celia’s arms for a hundred years. But he had more to do. 

Eventually they would have to go to King’s Landing and confront his father. He prayed that Elia and the children were well, that they were safe, that someone was protecting them. He wondered if Elia would hate him. He wondered if they would come to hate him when they grew enough to understand what happened. The thought twisted in his chest painfully. 

“Ser Bonifer,” Viserys called. 

The man bowed. “Yes, your grace?”

“I want you to go to Dragonstone and take the keep. I want you to protect my mother and make sure she’s safe.”

Ser Bonifer bowed his head. “Yes, your grace.”

“What should be done with Ser Barristan?” Ned asked. 

“His throat should be cut,” Roose Bolton said. “I trust him not.”

Viserys looked at the older knight. Ser Barristan has been the first person to put a sword in his hand, even if he had always put more effort in training Rhaegar. 

“Do you know where my brother took Lady Lyanna?” Viserys asked the man. 

“I do not,” Ser Barristan replied. He was horribly wounded and Viserys wondered if he would even survive the day. 

“Celia—” He blushed slightly. “Lady Celia, please tend to him and make sure he has a chance to survive the day.”

“Of course, your grace.” She bowed her head. He envies her ease into flowing back into politics, but knew that was more her world than his. Women, Elia had told him, were always mindful of what others expected of them. 

He watched her go for a moment before the discussion of their march to King’s Landing continued. 

—

“I want you to return to Riverrun,” Viserys said as he and Celia walked the camp, arm in arm.

She stopped and he stopped with her. However, he could not look at her. “Viserys.” He didn’t turn his head. “Viserys, look at me.” It took her putting her hand on his cheek and guiding his face to hers that made him look. “I will not leave you.”

“It will be safer for you to return to Riverrun. I know you had to flee the Martell forces and I cannot in good conscious bring you to another fight. I can’t.”

She frowned and pulled her hand from his arm and turned to face him completely. Celia cupped his face in his hands. “My place is with you,” she said gently, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “I won’t leave you, not when you need me. Besides, I’m needed with the injured. I pray to all the gods that nothing happens when we reach King’s Landing, but I want to be there if the men and people need me. Let me help put things back together.”

Viserys took her hand in his own and pressed her knuckles to his lips. 

—

The army headed out for King’s Landing. Viserys felt only slightly more sure as Celia rode out next to him. It warmed his heart slightly to see some of the soldiers bow their head respectfully to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m coming up with rules for a possible Celiaverse contest. Just know there will be 2–3 first place winners who will get a 3k Celiaverse fic of their choice. It might be expanded later on, but it would be a long one-shot. Then there would also be 2–3 second place winners who will get a 1k Celiaverse fic of their choice as well. They can either be screenshots of a verse or even scenes they desperately want to happen in a fic I’ve talked about or already posted.   
> It would be split into 2-3 categories. There would be a fanart section that may be split into photo edits/moodboards and more traditional fanart or put together in one category with the second or theirs category (depending on the art one) being a writing one.   
> You guys could send me things on Tumblr or post them on your own and tag me in them, if you don’t have a tumblr, my submissions is open for you guys to do so on that. Then, I would post all the pictures and fic pieces onto three separate posts on Ao3 and I would allow a vote to go on so YOU guys can choose as much as I can.   
> Tell me what you think!


	15. Celia VIII

Viserys was needed to make plans for how the army might better approach King’s Landing without looking too much like a threat, so Celia was left to her own devices and went about checking on the men to make sure they were healing properly. 

“Might you check on me, good sister?” Ned asked. 

“Of course,” she said. Celia went to him and saw that his arm was in need of new bandages. It wasn’t a bad wound, but it still needed to be wrapped properly. 

“I’ve gotten word,” Ned said as she cleaned his wound. “Catelyn’s with child.”

Celia looked up at him and beamed. “That’s wonderful, Ned,” she said, kissing his cheek in happiness. “Now, as I am cleaning your wound and your life is now in my hands, you must promise to name the babe after me if it is a girl.”

Ned chuckled. “If this child is a girl, I am sure Catelyn could be persuaded.”

She smiled and continued to tend to his wound. 

“Celia?”

“Yes?”

“Are you in love with the king?”

She froze for a moment. “I am.” Celia looked up at him as she finished wrapping the wound. “And he loves me.”

“He’s the king, Celia.”

“And I am a lady.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Viserys would never hurt me.,” she said firmly. 

“You’re right,” he said. “Viserys wouldn’t, but the king might have to.”

Celia pursed her lips together. “Ned—”

“He will have a duty of putting Westeros back together again. He cannot promise you anything, Celia. Not until that is done.” Ned put his hand on her shoulder. “Protect your heart Celia. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

He left her then to ponder his words. 

—

Viserys walked Celia around the camp, her hand on the crook of his arm. They had made a habit of it, when their work was done. 

She relished in his attention and they spoke of so many things. They spoke of books and medicine and history. Celia felt like they were equals. It was as though they had known each other their entire lives and had yet to run out of things to speak about. She couldn’t imagine returning to Riverrun and never experiencing it again. 

“Celia?” Viserys said gently when they were in a more private part of the camp. 

“Yes?”

He pecked a kiss on her lips and she smiled, blushing. “I have been wanting to do that all day.”

Celia giggled. “I shall not stop you. In fact, I might encourage you.”

Viserys laughed. It was a beautiful thing, hearing him laugh. It was as though, for just a moment, all the weight was lifted from his shoulders. He peppered kisses upon her face before claiming his lips with her own in a deep kiss that left Celia wanting. 

—

“Both of your sisters have written that they are with child,” her father said proudly. 

Celia smiled. It was a blessing for children to be considered in such troubling times, and, what’s more, Celia was excited to be an aunt. She would spoil the children pleasantly rotten. 

“It will be your turn to marry after this is all over Celia,” her father said. He took her hand in his own. “I plan on speaking with the king and Lord Arryn of such matters.” Celia blushed. “While most men would be thrilled to learn their daughter has formed an attachment and understanding with the king, I, myself, am simply happy that you have found someone who cares for you and someone you can love as I loved you mother.” Celia smiled at him and her father pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I am proud of you, Celia.”

—

As they neared the capital, Celia could see smoke in the distance. “Viserys,” she whispered. 

Before the king could speak, one of the scouts came riding in. 

“It’s being sacked!” the rider shouted. “The Lannisters are sacking King’s Landing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, but a doozy of a one tomorrow


	16. Viserys VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Child death

“The Lannisters are sacking King’s Landing!”

Viserys’ heart thundered in his chest. 

“Robert,” he ordered. 

In his booming voice, Robert shouted, “Make for the city!”

They began to ride quickly and Viserys could see the smoke. He prayed to all the gods that Elia and the children were safe.

—

When they reached King’s Landing, they could all see the descent into chaos. The gates had been opened and people were screaming and Viserys’ heart thundered in his chest at the sight. 

“Get the small folk out of the city!” Viserys ordered. “Capture and detain anyone Lannister or city guard soldiers who do not lay their weapons down immediately! Kill only if you have to, but focus on helping the smallfolk!” He turned to his cousin and Ned. “The men that came with me from Dragonstone will go to the Red Keep, the rest of you focus on the rest.”

“Of course,” Robert said. 

“We’ll try not to let the damage grow,” Ned said with a firm nod. 

“Look after the wounded,” Viserys said, reaching out to take Celia’s hand in his own. “Be safe.”

“You too,” she said softly. 

With that, Viserys and his Targaryen men rode out making their way to the Red Keep.

—

His men spread out amongst the Red Keep as Monford followed Viserys. At first, he had planned on confronting his father, but that had been before he saw the sack, before he heard his people screaming and crying. 

As he rushed along the halls, he could see servants and a few keep guards dead on the ground and it took everything in Viserys to not look at mourn them. He’d grown up with these people. They had wiped his tears when his mother couldn’t. They snuck him treats from the kitchen. They gave him his first cup of wine or ale. They’d been his family, in a way. Cousins and aunts and uncles who shared no blood with him, but had been family all the same. 

He ordered Lannister soldiers to put down their weapons and, on the rare occasion that they did not, Viserys and Monford overpowered them and knocked them unconscious. They didn’t have time for any fights of honor. They needed to keep moving. 

Viserys needed to get to Elia and the children. He needed to. They were his true family. He needed to get to them first. 

—

He went to Rhaegar’s room first. Viserys knew that Rhaenys would be there. She liked to hide under her father’s bed whenever they played hide-and-seek. Rhaenys used to hide in Viserys’ room, but then she had ripped out the pages of one of his very old tombs and he started clapping his door from that point on, which meant it was nearly impossible to get into his room since the knob was too high. 

“Go to Elia’s room,” he ordered Monford. 

His friend nodded and they split off. 

He made it to Rhaegar’s room soon enough, finding a Lannister soldier with a large dagger in his hands and Viserys saw red. He ran his sword through the knight and killed him in an instant. He pushed the body away and did not care to even hear the man’s final breaths. 

“Rhaenys,” he said, opening the door. “Come here, Sweetling.”

He saw his niece’s curly dark hair first as she crawled out from under her father’s bed. Her eyes were red and fat tears were trailing down her chubby cheeks. “Unc Se!”

She ran as much as her little legs could and Viserys scooped her up into his arms, pressing kisses to her face. “It’s okay, Sweetling,” he said gently. “Uncle Se’s got you. Let’s go to your mum. Okay?”

Rhaenys sniffed and clung to his neck as he went to the nursery quickly, thinking that perhaps Aegon was there with Elia. 

Viserys pressed Rhaenys’ face into his shoulder when he came upon the scene, his knees weak. His eyes had barely… The image would be scorched upon his memory. 

Aegon’s body was prone on the floor with blood dripping down the wall and Viserys felt the contents of his stomach churn and attempted to bubble up. 

He turned away and saw a large knight, the Mountain, a man his brother had knighted, dead upon the floor as Monford tried to comfort Elia. 

“Elia,” Viserys’ voice came out like a child’s broken and trembling.

“Mum!” Rhaenys shouted, reaching for her mother. 

Elia looked up at them both and her paled face gained some color back as tears began to flood her eyes. Monford helped her up and she stumbled to him until Viserys opened his arms and pulled her into a hug. 

Tears began to form in his eyes as the nursery, once filled with laughter, echoed with sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry


	17. Celia IX

Celia helped the smallfolk that came flooding out of the city as fire and screams echoed across the stones of King’s Landing. She ordered about the other healers and the soldiers that had remained behind to help children first then the women and the elderly. Men who were uninjured were asked to tend to their children if their wives or mothers were so that the children wouldn’t get in the way. 

She rushed about to do what she could, shouting orders as she went. Celia was surprised at how easily people listened to her commands, but didn’t pay it any mind. She had people to save, people to tend to. Viserys trusted her with this duty and she would see it through. 

—

As less and less people began to flee the city, Celia could only guess that the sack was ending or that the rebel soldiers had overpowered the Lannister ones. 

When she had a moment to breathe, she prayed. Prayed that Viserys was okay. She wasn’t sure she could handle the thought of losing him now that they were so close to being finished. 

—

Once the sack was overrun and everything had grown quiet, Celia was escorted to the royal chambers where she was presented to Princess Elia and her daughter, Princess Rhaenys. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, your grace,” Celia said, dipping into a curtsy. 

The older woman smiled gently. “I remember seeing you briefly at Harrenhal,” the Princess said kindly. “I am glad Viserys was able to find you again.”

Celia glanced at him and saw Viserys leaning against the wall. He bowed his head and left before Celia could speak to him. She turned her attention back to the princess and took a deep breath. “Is there anything I might help you with, your grace?”

“I fear I’m slightly bruised.” 

Celia nodded and began to work. 

—

When she was finished, Elia thanked her. 

“Go after Viserys,” the Dornish princess said gently. “He’s most likely in Rhaegar’s room. He seemed like a boy when he left.” She held her sleeping daughter gently in her arms. “He seems more like a man now, but…” She sighed, like a mother still worried for her child. “Please, go to him.”

“Of course, your grace.” She curtsied. 

As she passed him, Monford turned to her. “It’s two doors down to the right.”

Celia nodded. “Thank you.” She went to Prince Rhaegar’s room and found Viserys standing in the middle, looking out towards the window, but his eyes were distant. “Viserys?”

“When I was little, I used to have terrible nightmares. I dreamed of fire and smoke and my mother crying. I never went to my parents’ rooms.” He put a hand on one of the bed posts. “I always came here. Rhaegar used to tell me that it was his job to keep me safe. He told me that he would always protect me and would never let the monsters get to me. When my brother grew too busy with his work I… I did the same for Rhaenys when I could. I… I had hoped to do the same for Aegon.”

Celia walked to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Viserys…”

It was then that she could see his tears. “I should have been faster. I… Now Rhaenys won’t have a father or a brother. Elia won’t… I…”

Celia wrapped her arms around him. There were no words to properly comfort him. She didn’t understand what it was like to lose one's family like that. So, all she could do was hold him as he gave out a broken sob before turning and burning his face in her hair, finding solace in her arms.

“It’s all my fault,” he whispered. “It’s all my fault.”

Celia felt tears catch on her lashes as she held him tightly. She could heal many things, but she couldn’t heal a broken heart. 


	18. Viserys IX

Viserys stood at the foot of the Iron Throne, not wanting to sit in the ridiculous chair at all. Not for this. Tywin and Jaime Lannister stood before him on their knees. Monford and Robert and Ned stood behind them. 

“Tell me, Lord Tywin,” Viserys began slowly. “Why did you order the death of my good sister and her children?”

“You are the new king, your grace,” the Old Lion said, bowing his head. “I did not wish for anyone to question your new reign.”

“I find it interesting that you never joined the rebellion,” Viserys said, tilting his head. “Not once was there an offer of aid. So, you can see my disbelief when it comes to your wanting to help my supposed cause. However, you miscalculated one thing, my lord.” The Old Lion looked up at him. “I never asked to be king. I was made one by my men, most likely for the name of my House, but also for my actions and my willingness to back my own words. No matter how my father and brother were, there were still my family. Now, you have taken my nephew, a boy innocent of any crime her father and grandfather committed. In a way, my lord, you have killed my heir.” He watched as all the color drained from Lord Tywin’s face. Viserys looked to Monford. “Take him to the black cells until we can hold a proper trial tomorrow. Everyone needs to rest soon and I would rather us all be awake and rested when we decide a man’s fate.”

“Of course, your grace,” his friend said with a slight bow. He took the Old Lion by the arm and escorted the man out.

“Ser Jaime,” Viserys said. 

“Yes, your grace?” the knight answered. 

“You were found sitting on the Iron Throne with my father’s body at your feet, a sword wound in his back and throat,” Viserys said. “While I don’t know you well, I know you were as mindful of your duty and vows as my mother is. What caused you to kill my father in such a way?”

“He was going to burn down King’s Landing, your grace,” Ser Jaime said softly. “He has caches of wildfire around the city. He was going to have his pyromancers light then so he might be reborn into a dragon.” It was then that Viserys notes the slight tremor in the knight’s voice. The paleness of his features. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

Viserys was quiet for a moment. “Escort Ser Jaime to the kingsguard chambers, we’ll decide your fate from there. You killed my father for the people, not for some supposed loyalty to me. Robert.”

“At once, your grace.”

Viserys watched as his cousin escorted the young knight away before returning his gaze to the crowd. “Everyone get a good night's rest, for we have much to do tomorrow.”

—

“Your grace,” Lord Arryn came up behind him. 

“Is there something you need, my lord?” Viserys asked. 

“Do you know what sort of punishment Lord Tywin might receive?”

“He ordered the murder of children. My reign began with the blood of my family on my conscience. I shall not begin my time of the iron throne with the murder of my nephew. I will not stand for history to think I condone such a thing.” He turned to properly look at Lordy Arryn. “I feel like this isn’t what you wanted to ask me, my lord.”

“No, it is not.” The lord sighed. “I wished to talk to you about whom you might marry.”

“Might?” Viserys asked. “I plan on asking Lord Tully for the hand of his youngest daughter. House Tully is now connected to the Stormlands and the North and whatever kingdom they might betroth Edmure Tully to. It’s a wise match and my feelings for Lady Celia are true.”

“It is good that the girl is indeed of noble birth, but you are not a prince anymore,” the older lord looked weary. “Love cannot be your only deciding factor.”

“I just gave you a political reason as well without mentioning my heart, although it belongs to her fully.”

“You have thrown the Lannister patriarch and lord of the Westerlands into the black cells, no doubt to await his death. The Westerlands are a powerful and rich kingdom. Perhaps you should contemplate renewing a courtship with Lady Cersei.”

Viserys frowned and thought of what best to say for a moment. Anger boiled inside him and he wanted to shout, but he did not. After a moment, he spoke. “There is no need for me to contemplate it for I shan’t even allow myself the thought. My men have seen that Lady Celia cares for them and she has been by our side since Riverrun. I doubt any, especially the men she saved, would take kindly to her being set aside when she has done more for this rebellion than Lord Tywin or his daughter did for us.” He took a breath. “I plan to make Celia my wife for reasons both political and emotional. My mind is made up, my lord, and you shall not change it.”

—

Viserys held his niece in his arms. Rhaenys was asleep, her dark curls tickling at his cheek. He hadn’t been able to shave much while he was fighting, but had done so specifically for Rhaenys’ sake so that he might not irritate her skin with the stubble. 

“Elia, what do you wish to do?” 

His good sister looked up at him. “I’m unsure of what you are asking.”

“Do you wish to stay here or return to Dorne? I shall not stop you either way. Until I have a child, whether a son or daughter, of my own, Rhaenys is my heir as Aegon would have been. However, I will not require either of you to stay.”

The Dornish princess sighed and stood before taking Viserys and her daughter into her arms. “Perhaps I will return to Dorne someday, but you and our people need me. I shan’t leave you for a good long while yet.” She kissed his cheek as his mother often would. “I shall not abandon you, Viserys. We’re family and families stick together. It is what we’re meant to do.”

Viserys let out the breath he realized he was holding. “Thank you.”

—

Viserys awoke from a dream of his father and brother dragging him down into the cracked earth. He awoke in a cold sweat and the feeling of the wind being knocked from his lungs. 

Although he knew it to be improper, Viserys made his way to the room Celia had been given. He knocked on the door and she opened it a moment later. 

She was a vision, dressed in her white shift and her hair long and flowing like a waterfall of molten copper. “Could you not sleep?”

“A nightmare,” he replied. He felt more foolish now, disturbing her slumber. “Forgive me, my lady, I shouldn’t—”

“I have nightmares too,” she said. Celia took his hand and led him to her bed. “Perhaps we can chase away each other’s.”

He smiled and followed where she led. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven chapters to go!


	19. Celia X

Celia awoke in Viserys’ arms wrapped loosely around her. 

His silver hair covered a bit of his face and Celia hesitantly tucked it behind his ear. He looked so at peace in his sleep, as though the past year of the rebellion had not happened. He looked soft and at ease. 

Celia closed her eyes and snuggled closer into his arms until they tightened around her. 

“Good morning,” he whispered, his voice rough with sleep. 

“Good morning,” she repeated. His eyes opened and she was fascinated with their lilac color. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” he said tenderly, pressing his lips to her own. 

The kiss started out tender and chaste. Just a simple press of his lips to hers. However, a shiver ran up her spine as she felt his hand on her waist and, on pure instinct, she opened her mouth to him. The chaste kiss dissolved into one of a quiet passion that left Celia beneath him and gasping.

Viserys pulled away, balancing himself on his forearms around her head. “I have to go,” Viserys whispered. 

“I know.” She pushed herself up and pressed one last kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you in a few hours for the trial.”

He nodded before getting up and kissing her brow before heading back to his own rooms. Celia blushed as she remembered his hardness pressing between her legs. 

—

“You stand accused of two of the worst crimes any man could sanction,” Viserys said to Lord Tywin in front of what remained of the court. Celia was amazed at how much strength he seemed to emit despite not sitting on the Iron Throne. He stood before them, only a few steps above the crowd so they might better see him. “On your orders two men went to the royal wing and killed my nephew and heir, Prince Aegon, attempted to murder my niece and now heir, Princess Rhaenys, as well as the attempted murder and rape of my good sister, Princess Elia of House Martell.” He took a deep breath. “Child murder and rape of any kind should never and will never be tolerated. How do you answer these charges, Lord Lannister?”

“I am innocent, your grace.”

“So, what were Lannister men doing in the Royal wing then?”

“They were meant to be captured. I have no control over the Mountain.”

“And yet you sent him to carry out your orders. You are either lying, my lord, or you are stupid. I very much doubt you are a fool, which can only mean you are lying. I will not ask my good sister to recount her attack or her son’s death, but the Mountain said something to you before I entered the room and after Prince Aegon was brutally murdered. I humbly ask that you share with the court what the Mountain uttered before he attempted to dishonor you.”

Elia was holding her daughter, her chin lifted with all the grace of a queen she would never be. “He said  _ a Lannister always pays his debts. _ ”

A chill ran down Celia’s spine as whispers began to circulate around the masses at court but Viserys silenced them with a raised hand. “Are there any who wish to speak in Lord Tywin’s defense?” The Old Lion looked about and saw none had stepped forward. “I shall let you live, my lord, but you shall be sent to the Wall for the remainder of your days. Your son, Tyrion shall become the Lord of Casterly Rock in your place. Worry not for your other children for they shall be taken care of.”

“Your grace—” Lord Tywin began. 

“You will not speak, Tywin Lannister,” Viserys said. “While a Lannister always repays his debts, you should remember that your quarrel and anger was towards my father, not my good sister and her children. Take him to the Black Cells until he can be escorted to the Wall.”

—

It was only later that night that Celia began to worry about what the future might hold. All her life, she expected to marry some minor lord of little to no consequence, yet there she was being courted by a king. 

Yet… She could not help but remember the brief conversation she overheard between Viserys and Lord Arryn. 

_ You have thrown the Lannister patriarch and lord of the Westerlands into the black cells, no doubt to await his death. The Westerlands are a powerful and rich kingdom. Perhaps you should contemplate renewing a courtship with Lady Cersei. _

Viserys had not answered and Celia had left to her other duties before she could hear his reply. She had, naturally, been shocked when he had come to her chambers that night, but part of it had felt like a goodbye. 

Celia shook her head and left her rooms to go to Viserys.

She knocked on his door and the Targaryen king opened it. 

“Celia—”

She cut him off with a bruising kiss, starting where they left off that morning. It didn’t take long for Viserys to return it, pulling her to him and wrapping her in his arms as they walked back into his bedroom, closing the door behind them, and falling into bed. 

—

Celia awoke curled into Viserys’ side as he was sprawled out on his back the covers barely covering his manhood, a trail of silver hair leading downwards. The memory of last night wafted into Celia’s mind and she blushed. They had been awkward, but passionate. The way he had… the feel of him inside her, thrusting into her with helpless abandon as he whispered her name like a prayer and the way he brought her so very high and caught her as she came crashing down around his cock. 

Celia blushed. 

She wished things could stay the same, but… Westeros needed Viserys and they needed someone who could help him as his queen. She knew so little of politics and was only the third daughter. It would be one thing if she were the eldest like Cat. 

Celia slid from the bed and went to her lover’s desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment and a quill. 

_ My love, _

_ You deserve more than I could ever give you. Be happy and know my heart will always be yours.  _

_ Celia _

She picked up her clothes and pulled them back over her bare body before leaving his room and leaving the keep, heading back to the Riverlands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celia: the noble idiot trope strikes at last!
> 
> Also, after Thursday, I’m taking one week off from writing because my supervisor scheduled me for too many hours next week and I’m going to be utterly exhausted. I might change up the writing schedule for my fics since I’ve been under too much stress lately (I work at a grocery store). Thank you for understanding!


	20. Viserys X

Viserys awoke to sunlight streaming in from his window and his hair tickling his nose. Memories from the night before flooded into his mind and he blushed. He reached over for Celia, part of him wanting to revisit last night’s memories, but also to simply hold her, reassure himself that last night had been real. 

However, when he reached over, he found emptiness. 

Viserys sat up and looked about, finding nothing and no one. 

He blinked and realized that parchment that had not been on his desk before was there now. The king stood and went to the desk, finding a letter upon it. 

_My love,_

_You deserve more than I could ever give you. Be happy and know my heart will always be yours._

_Celia_

_P.S. You are already a good king and I know Westeros will flourish under your care. Worry not about me._

Viserys narrowed his eyes and quickly got dressed, hoping he was not too late in stopping her leave. 

—

Viserys barreled into the small council room where Ned, Robert, Lord Tully and Lord Arryn were waiting with Lord Varys. “Have any of you seen Celia?”

“ _Lady_ Celia,” Jon corrected. “And no.”

Viserys held up Celia’s letter to him and showed it to them. 

Robert sighed. “It appears someone’s preyed on her sense of self worth.”

“Wait,” Ned held the letter up. “Where was this?”

“My room,” Viserys said quickly. “But that doesn’t matter.”

“”Pretty sure it does,” Robert muttered, glancing at Lord Tully. 

“Not at the moment,” Viserys repeated. “Where could she have gone, by herself for that matter.”

“She’s most likely returning to the Riverlands,” Lord Tully said. 

“Then I must go after her!”

“You are the king,” Lord Arryn said. “You cannot simply leave the Red Keep when you’ve only just conquered it.”

“I don’t care about the crown or that blasted throne.”

“Your grace!” Lord Arryn shouted. 

“I know this is convenient for you, my lord,” Viserys said. “But I refuse to marry a Lannister, much less Lady Cersei. If Lord Tully allows it, I will marry Celia as soon as I am able. But I must retrieve her first.”

“Jon is right though,” Robert said. “You can’t just leave.”

Viserys’ jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

Even Ned looked shocked. 

“You need to stay here. Perhaps you can start wedding preparations, but you need to stay here and handle everything. Ned needs to go to Dorne to look for Lyanna.”

Viserys frowned. He knew that Robert wanted to go, but there may be a fight yet and he had injured his dominant arm during the sack. 

“I’ll go get Lady Celia. Even if I only have one good arm at the moment, I can still toss her over my shoulder if I need to. Besides, I’m as stubborn as a mule, maybe just as stubborn as she is. I’ll bring her back to you Viserys. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter😬
> 
> Robert is going after her so get ready for the banter! 
> 
> And Ned is going to Lyanna. The fate of Jon will surprise you.


	21. Celia XI

She had been riding steadily for about a day and a half. Her thighs were sore from other things, but she knew she had to keep moving to get back to Riverrun before someone came after her. Even so, she didn’t stick to the main road and preferred traveling to the side along different paths. She had a map so she wasn’t really worried about getting lost and she could remember the basic journey that went from Riverrun to King’s Landing. 

However, it was hard to basically be alone in her thoughts. Her mind wandered to Viserys, only ever briefly thinking of their night of passion, of him above her and inside her. Of his heat and warmth and comfort. Then, she would force those thoughts away, her chest always feeling hollow afterwards. 

If they were any other people, things would have been different. If she were the eldest daughter. If he were still just a prince. If he was just a simple scholar and she was just a healer. If they were both someone else, perhaps they could have been together, but it hurt too much to dwell on what ifs. 

Even so, she did and, that night, she fell asleep crying. 

—

On her fourth day of riding, she came upon a man next to a broken cart. Celia winced at the sight, seeing his bone poking through his leg. She dismounted and went to him. 

“Do you have someone coming, ser?” she asked. 

“Aye,” the man said. “My daughter is off to fetch her husband. Damn rocks were not cleared properly after the troops went through.”

Celia kneeled down next to him. “It’s a bad break.”

“Aye, it is,” the man grimaced. “Doubt I’ll be much help on the farm.” He sighed. “I suppose this was one way to convince my good son to bring my daughter home to the farm.”

Celia smiled and opened her healing pouch. “I’m a healer by trade, ser. Shall I reset it and splint it?”

“If you’d be so kind. The name is Eryn,” he said, offering his hand.

She took it. “Celia.”

He narrowed his eyes for a moment. “I’ll be damned. You’re the Healer of the Flame, Celia Rivers, or Tully, I think it was.”

Celia blinked. “That is my name, but I don’t know what you mean about Healer of the Flames.”

She began to reset his leg and made a temporary splint out of some broken pieces of wood from the cart’s wheel. 

“It’s what the people call you because of what you did during the rebellion. We even heard you helped the smallfolk and the enemy soldiers in King’s Landing. What are you doing here?”

“Heading back to the Riverlands,” she replied. “I miss my sisters and want to see them before they head to the North and the Stormlands.”

“Have you slept in a good bed since you’ve been traveling?” the man asked. “There’s my daughter with her husband now.” Celia turned and saw two people coming down the road with a pair of horses and another cart. “Why don’t you stay with us for a few nights and replenish your supplies?”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“Not at all,” the man said. “Least I can do for the Healer of the Flame.”

Celia sighed. She would really like to not sleep on the ground that night. “I suppose I can.”

It’s not like anyone would find her at a random farmhouse. 

—

Eryn and his family were a jolly lot. They seemed happy and content, as though the war had not touched them. Even so, it had. Apparently, Eryn’s son, a man named Arthur, had been one of the soldiers Celia had tended to and the man was thrilled that he could thank her. 

Celia enjoyed listening to their stories, especially of their views and sides of the battles of the rebellion. They were embellished, as early often was, but Celia enjoyed listening to them nonetheless. 

She nearly cried for laughter at the anecdote of how Arthur’s initial horse had stubbornly refused to follow the rest of the soldiers and he had to get, of all beasts, his sister’s horse to follow the crowd. 

It was good and merry and it eased Celia’s heart just a little. 

—

“She’s right there, my lord,” Arthur said and Celia turned, her jaw hanging as Robert Baratheon came through the door. 

“Seven Hells,” she said, standing. 

“No you don’t,” Robert said, hooking his arm around her waist and hoisting her over his shoulder. “You’re coming back to the Red Keep even if I have to tie you to my back the entire way there.”

“Robert,” Celia said sternly. “Put me down. You’re injured.”

“Then don’t fight me,” Robert said. “You and Viserys are going to bloody talk things out.”

“Robert, stop,” Celia said, smacking his uninjured shoulder. “Put me down.” She glared at Arthur. “Traitor.”

The soldier shrugged. “I thought it was strange you were without an escort,” he said. “So when I came across Lord Baratheon looking for you, I figured you were needed.” Arthur gave a slight bow. “Your grace.”

Celia opened her mouth to protest more, but Robert was already walking her out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone shipped her with Viserys.
> 
> The Celiaverse contest is now open! Find the rules [HERE](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/615380999853981696/i-have-finally-come-out-with-the-rules-for-the) ! We have a couple entries already! 
> 
> I also have a new posting schedule [HERE](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/615754777656197120/okay-new-release-schedule-for-the)


	22. Viserys XI

“Lord Stark to see you, your grace,” Monford said. 

“Just Viserys is fine, and send him in.” Viserys set down the paperwork and sighed. His father had felt so little in actual politics that Viserys was surprised the realm was even running properly. Thank the gods for competent wardens. 

Viserys heard Ned enter and looked up to find the Stark man holding a child. He stood immediately. 

“My sister….” Ned’s voice trembled. “She didn’t make it. She was…”

“Pregnant.” Viserys closed his eyes cursing his brother and feeling every ounce of empathy for his friend. He went to Ned and looked down at the boy. “May I hold her?”

“Him,” Ned corrected before nodding and handed the babe to Viserys. He looked wholly Stark, not an ounce of the Targaryen look. A part of him was angry, angry that Aegon was dead and angry that Rhaegar had done this to a child and to Elia and her children. 

“Does anyone else know?” 

“Howland Reed,” Ned replied. “But he can keep a secret.”

Viserys nodded. “A nursemaid? 

“Brought from Dorne.”

“Keep him hidden until we can figure out how to handle this more delicately. I can’t make him Rhaegar’s heir. I won’t do that to Elia.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“I’m sorry, Ned.”

The Stark lord took back his nephew into his arms. “It is not your fault Viserys. I should have taken better care of her.”

—

The next person to come was Ser Bonifer, holding a bundle in his arms as well. The older man’s eyes were red rimmed and his voice was choked. 

“It’s a girl, your grace. The queen named her Daenerys before…” He began to tremble and tears began to slide down his cheeks. 

Viserys took his little sister into his arms. She was so tiny and Viserys knew she had been born too soon. He pressed a kiss to her brow. “I promise to protect you, sweetling. I’ll be a better father to you than our own would have ever been.”

He dismissed Ser Bonifer to allow the man to mourn properly without worrying about the babe in his arms and Viserys held his sister, the last piece of his mother that he would ever truly have. 

—

“I don’t know what to do,” Viserys whispered, running his fingers through his hair. 

Elia was sitting next to him, Rhaenys asleep in her lap. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I won’t ask you to look after Lady Lyanna’s son. I know he isn’t at fault, but I can’t ask that of you, maybe if Aegon… but he’s not. I know what I will do with Daenerys. She’s my sister and I need to take care of her. I just don’t know what to do with the boy. Lady Lyanna didn’t even live long enough to name him. He doesn’t even have a name.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Elia said gently. 

“Ned has offered to take him, but that would strain his marriage to Catelyn Tully and I just know people would use the child for their own gain of word gets out about his parentage.” 

“The gods will give you an answer,” Elia said. “Viserys, have you slept recently?”

“Why?” he asked. “Do I smell?”

His good sister smiled slightly. “A little. You need to sleep. You had a chance to mourn the man Rhaegar used to be. You’ve had a chance to mourn Aegon. Have you had a chance to mourn Rhaella?”

He shook his head and buried his face in his hands. 

“Go to your rooms and sleep and mourn,” she said. “And perhaps take a bath.”

Viserys leaned into her. “What would I do without you, Elia?”

“You would be utterly helpless.”

—

“Sorry I’m late,” Robert said, literally kicking the door to Viserys’ solar open. 

“Robert! Put me down! I can walk!”

Viserys, Ned, and Monford stared at the Baratheon lord with dropped jaws as he came in with Celia tossed over his shoulder. 

“Wound reopened and she kept arguing with me about it.”

“Robert Baratheon, you put me down this instant!”

He set her down and she glared at him, punching him in the chest, which only seemed to hurt her hand based on the way she winced. She then turned to look at Viserys and her face turned red from blushing. She glanced at Ned and Monford. 

“Could you all leave us for a moment?” Viserys asked, wanting to give himself and Celia even a bit of privacy while they discussed what would happen next. 

His friends nodded and bowed slightly except for Robert. “I spent days carrying her, I deserve to be part of the conversation.”

Ned and Monford both pushed him out and closed the door behind them, Robert still complaining. 

Viserys and Celia both were quiet for a long time. He looked at her, rememorizing every inch of her that he could see and found that little had changed, although she had gained a slight tan from her travels. 

“Do you love me, Celia?” he asked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll find out what happens to Jon on Viserys’ next chapter. I think you’ll guys will find it to be a satisfying ending for that plot line. 
> 
> THREE CHAPTERS TO GO!


	23. Celia XII

“Do you love me, Celia?” he asked her quietly. His voice was so soft and unsure. He looked almost resigned to the possibility that she didn’t love him, that her heart did not belong to him. 

But it did. Her heart, her body, her mind, her very soul. All of it was his. Every part of her that made her who she was was his. 

She stepped forward and took his face in her hands and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Celia pressed her forehead to his. “Your duty isn’t to your family and to your people. Lord Arryn is a wise man. He wouldn’t suggest a marriage if it wouldn’t help your cause.”

“Hang duty,” Viserys said, holding her close. “The only thing I want in this world is you by my side.”

“You’re the king, Viserys. The people must come first.” She wanted desperately to kiss him again, but pulled away instead. “The people must come first. I have seen this realm torn apart by war that started for the supposed love of a woman. I cannot ask you to risk all that we have fought for for my sake.”

Viserys took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “Stay here, then, until I can convince you otherwise. I will not give up, Celia. I won’t.”

She took a deep breath and let it out through her nose, but nodded anyway. 

—

Celia could see what Viserys was doing and she did what he wanted anyway. 

He had her follow Elia around, touring the castle while also taking charge of the keep as though it were her own. Viserys thought he was being clever, but in reality he was using his good sister’s sweet and manipulative nature to get Celia do what he wanted. 

“This should be your job,” Celia said quietly after ordering a few servants about. 

Elia huffed. “I am not the queen.”

“You should be though.” 

Elia sighed. “Perhaps.” A distant look came into her eyes and Celia felt like a horrible person. 

“I didn’t mean—”

The Dornish princess shook her head. “We must push forward to create a better life for those left behind. It is not a warrior who rebuilds and fixes everything when the soldiers return. It is the healers and the lovers that bring men home from war and help them leave it at the door.”

“But I am the third daughter and am a healer besides, not exactly a respectable profession, especially for a queen.”

“And Viserys would tell you he is not the best candidate to be king.”

“Of course he is in these circumstances,” Celia said in his defense. “He showed that he cared more for his people than that ugly iron chair. I do not think he has even sat in it yet.”

“He hasn’t,” Elia nodded. “I believe he’s taking a page out of the book of the Kings of Winter and wishes to be seated closer to the people than so far above them.” The older woman took Celia’s hand in her own. “You have the respect of the people already. Apparently they were the ones who told Lord Baratheon where to find you. Think it over, Celia. I can’t think of anyone else who would be a better queen than you.” She smiled. “Other than myself of course. And I would rather have you as my good sister than that awful Cersei.”

Celia giggled.

—

Celia felt as though she was being reprimanded. She sat before her father and uncle as they went over everything they possibly could to ascertain Viserys’ feelings and commitment to her. They, of course, couldn’t really do that to their king themselves so they had to interrogate her. 

She told them, plainly, of her relationship with Viserys, leaving out, of course, their night of passion. 

The mere thought made her blush, but her father and uncle assumed it was from being interrogated by them. 

”He loves me, Father,” Celia said, whisking to end the conversation. “But King Viserys must take into account more than just his feelings when it comes to naming a queen.”

“And your own feelings, sweet girl?” Uncle Brynden asked. 

Her heart twisted in her chest. “My feelings are my own and I shall not begrudge him for putting the people before me. He would not be the man I thought he was if he did.”

—

“Could you walk with me in the garden, my lady?” Viserys asked her gently, offering her his arm. 

“Of course.” She took his arm and they walked to the Queen Rhaella’s garden 

“My mother would take me here a lot when I was a child,” he said after there were quiet for a long moment. “It was her refuge. The one place my father would not bother her.”

Celia wrapped her arm more tightly around his and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “I am told that you have written to the Citadel to ask that women be better allowed to serve in the arts of healing on a more professional basis. Thank you.”

“It is not just for you,” he said gently. “I always felt that a woman knows her body better than a man does. If there had been women present for my mother and her many births and…” he shook his head. “Perhaps something could have been done. However, if you wish to thank me, just know that your happiness is enough.” He took her hand in hers. “Celia, I find that you think so little of yourself that you do not see the worth all others have found in you. The people speak of you in reverence and you have earned the affection and gratitude of plenty of my wardens and high lords. If the reason you do not wish to be my queen is because you do not wish to be my wife, tell me so. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me forever on such things. My heart is yours and if I cannot have you, then Rhaenys will be my heir and my sister after that.” He took her hand in his own and kissed it. “I can love none but you and I know in my heart that you will make a good wife and a good queen to our people. Be mine, Celia, and let us be together to face whatever may yet come our way.”

Celia’s eyes pricked with tears at his confession and found only one word could escape her lips. 

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter and an epilogue to go!
> 
> I have an idea of what my next Celiaverse fic is going to be! Look up the tag “Love’s Not Always Wise” on my tumblr to find you what it’s about!


	24. Viserys XII

He had spent too much of time arguing with a grand maester on the merits of allowing women to practice healing on a more uniform level and to also be considered just as knowledgeable as men and maester’s were. 

He learned that he apparently hadn’t been the only Targaryen king, or Westerosi king in general, who thought of such as the grand maester spent plenty of time explaining that others had tried before and there were records of kings prior to the conquering who had thought to try such things as well. 

“It simply isn’t appropriate,” the grand maester has said. “A woman should not look upon any man’s body save her husband’s.”

“But a man can look at a woman’s and even explore such private places to check if there are children and do other things in the name of medicine.”

“It is different.”

“Of course it is different,” Viserys snapped. “From a young age, we are told that men have urges and cannot control themselves and thus it is the woman’s job to keep themselves from being taken advantage of or raped. We are told that men cannot control such things and that women have no real need of carnal pleasures and that it is only to serve men.”

“There have already been studies to show that this believe is false, the Citadel—”

“If they had an actual woman to speak to instead of subjects of study, any woman would probably tell you that such statements are false. However, if we are to go on the belief that a man cannot help himself, then why should any trust one with their wife's and daughter’s and sister’s treatments. Would it not be more logical to allow women more privacy in their sometimes more vulnerable moments? Women have been shown to have a knowledge of medicine that men are unaware of. I did some studying and moon tea, while known to men as a way to get rid of a pregnancy, has also been altered by women as a way to soothe the pains of the moonblood and better their ability to work during those moments of extreme uncomfortableness. Such a thing is shared verbally and not widely known, especially by maesters. Think about how much knowledge might be gained about medicine as well as the human body should women be allowed to aid in the art of healing.”

“Your grace, it is simply not done.”

“Give it five years. Allow women to study for five years and should they Citadel see their worth, they shall be allowed to stay, if not, you train them still so that our people won’t die simply because they had no access to a maester. This is an order from the king.”

The grand maester pursed his lips before bowing. “I understand, your grace.”

—

“Yes.”

It felt as though Viserys could breathe again. It was as though the world had realined itself and everything had been made right. He laughed out a smile and pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. Celia wrapped her arms around his neck and he pressed his nose into the crook of hers, feeling her heartbeat against his lips. Viserys shifted ever so slightly to press his lips more firmly against her skin. 

Celia’s fingers began to tangle in his hair and he tilted his head to capture her lips with his, basking in the warmth of her skin against his. 

He had meant to keep the kiss chaste, they were in a relatively private place, but that did not mean that people might not pass through. 

“Then we can be quick,” Celia whispered against his lips. 

Viserys had not realized that he had spoken aloud, but that was beyond the point then. 

Their lips came together more fervently and he backed them into one of the hidden pillars of the garden. Celia was already beginning to lift her skirts and Viserys let go of her face, loathed as he was to do so, and began to unlace his trousers until he was free from their shrinking tightness. He was already hard and Celia moaned against his lips as she felt him rut between her legs. 

Viserys pushed her smallcloth aside and it didn’t take long for Viserys to have her lifted up against the pillar and began thrusting into her wildly. His lips descended upon her neck so she could better breathe, panting and gasping at his thrusts as he moved his hand between them until he found the right spot and pressed his thumb—

“Viserys,” Celia’s voice came out in a cry as she began to fall apart and he lost what little restraint he had in such a moment. He followed her release soon after. 

Still buried deep within her, but growing softer by the second, Viserys kissed her deeply as he withdrew from her warmth and set her back on her feet. 

“I fear I cannot walk,” she said after their kiss, burying her face in his chest as she smoothed out her skirts and he readjusted his trousers. 

“Shall I carry you, my queen?” he asked gently. “Although I can only think of only one place to take you should that be what you desire.”

He could see the tips of Celia’s ears turning pink and he smiled at that. 

—

“May I see him?” Robert asked Ned quietly. 

They had decided to tell Robert about Lyanna’s son. He deserved to know the truth of what happened and what exactly Rhaegar had done. Ned carefully handed the babe to Robert and just as he was about to explain how to hold him, Robert shook his head. 

“I have a daughter, Ned. I raised Renly. I know how to hold a baby.” And it was true. He held the boy with such ease. The babe was so small in comparison to the giantness that was Robert. “He looks just like her.” His voice was soft, but they could all hear the way he choked at the mere mention of Lyanna, the way his whole body grew tense. 

He had planned a whole life for himself and the girl who would have been his wife. And now she was gone.

“What’s his name?” he asked. 

“Jon,” Ned replies. “Lyanna thought he was a girl and had named her Visenya, not knowing the truth.”

“What are you going to do?” Robert asked Ned. 

“Take him North,” he said. “I’ll explain it to Cat, but it’s dangerous for people to question whether or not Jon should have the throne. I don’t like the idea of him being used against his family.”

“People would hardly believe that you fathered a bastard Ned,” Robert countered. 

“It’s the only way.”

“No,” Robert said. “It isn’t.”

Viserys glanced at his cousin. “What do you suggest?”

“Let me claim him.” Robert smiled down at the boy. “Everyone knows that Lyanna didn’t… she was against the betrothal because of Mya. Let that notion protect her son too. I’ll claim him and I’ll bring Mya here as well. Because of his coloring, he can pass as my son.”

“What about Storm’s End?” Viserys asked. 

“Stannis and Lysa can have it. I’ll take the white. There’s only a rule about fathering bastards after I’ve taken the vows. Mya and Jon can be raised here.” Robert looked at Ned. “Jon can marry your eldest daughter, that way their children will be more Stark and even less Targaryen and more connected to whatever children Viserys and Celia have.”

Viserys glanced at Ned. “What do you say?”

“If it’s to protect Jon, then it’s what we’ll do.”

—

Viserys fiddled with his tunic. 

Elia sighed and shook her head. “You’re going to wrinkle it.”

“I think it looks fine.”

“This day is more about Celia than it is you,” she said. “A girl only has her first wedding once. It’s your job to make it as perfect as possible.”

Viserys smiled. He was getting married. He was going to marry the love of his life and start a new life with her and fill up the Red Keep with laughter and joy and children. He could do nothing but smile. He looked out upon the streets from his room in the sept. He could see Celia’s procession as it came closer and he smiled more. 

It was a new beginning. 

And Viserys was ready for whatever was to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viserys is the actual man.  
> Sweet and quick pillar sex.  
> Robert is a dad! And nice!  
> One chapter to go!!!
> 
> And here’s an except from the fic coming after this one “Love’s Not Always Wise” staring Celia Snow:
> 
> “They’re dead,” he whispered. “They’re both dead and it’s my fault.”   
> “Shh...” There were tears threatening to fall as his whole body shook. Celia cupped Robb’s face in her hands. “Shh...” She wiped the tears with her thumbs. “It’s not your fault.” It was. She had told him not to send Theon away. She had told him. “It’s not your fault.” It wasn’t. She had trusted him too. “It’s not.”  
> It was magnetic.   
> She brought his forehead to hers and tried her best to comfort him as tears began to slide down her own cheeks. Celia pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth tenderly, wishing she knew how to comfort him as her own resolve and heart were crumbling. She kissed the other corner as Robb shuddered against her.   
> He turned his head slightly and his lips met hers.   
> Celia froze for only a moment until his lips pressed against hers in earnest. Something inside her snapped and her arms slid across his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him closer until he plied her lips open with his tongue.   
> It was pure instinct, the way their bodies moved against one another, the way their bodies molded together as Robb plundered her mouth, seeking absolution from her lips. Celia grasped at the back of his shirt, trying to find purchase as his own hands were at her skirts, yanking them up as he walked her back against the desk of her tent where she had been organizing her herbs and medicines.   
> She felt his want. She felt his need.   
> She was powerless to deny him anything.   
> She was powerful enough to give him everything.   
> Celia was on the desk, her skirts pushed around her hips and she could feel rut him against her, separated only by thick scraps of clothing.   
> Closer.   
> His lips descended upon her neck and she had not felt so alive since before Shadow had been killed. She had never felt so true.   
> “Robb,” she mewled as his fingers dug into her hips, as her body begged for a release of something she could not name.   
> At the sound of her voice, whatever spell that had been upon them was broken and her brother stumbled away from her, looking thoroughly debatched, looking thoroughly mortified.   
> “Robb...” She slid off the desk and reached to touch his face, barely coming into herself. However, he cringed from her touch and, once again, Celia felt the emptiness she had when Shadow was killed.   
> “I have to go,” he breathed.   
> “Robb, please,” she begged him. She clung to his sleeve, desperate to keep him with her, to let them talk, let things fall back into place as they had been before.   
> He pulled away from her. “We are not Targaryens. We are not Lannisters,” he spat the name. “It meant nothing. A weakness which never should have been acted upon.”  
> Celia began to cry in earnest.   
> “I’ll legitimize you as planned and you shall marry Cregan Karstark.”  
> “Robb, please,” she begged.   
> But he said nothing, the loathing apparent as he fled her tent and returned to the Westerling Keep, leaving Celia in her sorrow.


	25. Epilogue

Celia sighed, rubbing her growing belly. The babe was kicking more now than ever and she knew that there would be only a few weeks left before she gave birth. Even so, a Queen was forever busy, especially with so many children to attend to. 

Elia day beside her cheering for Daenerys as she and Jon sparred against one another. Celia’s little good sister was noble and kind and Celia’s nephew was good and gentle, both were fiercely competitive, especially against one another. They were practically twins in a way, but both would be leaving the Red Keep soon though. 

Robert started calling after both of them, fixing Dany’s footing and Jon’s grip on his sword. Both smiled at the Stormlord cheekily as they did and Robert ruffled Jon’s hair in annoyance, making Dany laugh happily. 

Rhaenys was sitting with Celia’s eldest son, Robbie, the two pouring over a history book, squabbling over the accuracies and inaccuracies of it based on another book they had been studying. Although Robbie took after Celia in appearance, her eldest son was much more like his father when it came to his studies. Rhaenys was the same, she had aspirations of being Robbie’s Hand when he was king and Celia thought it was a good match in that sense. 

Three marriages in the royal family so soon. Jon was to travel North to marry Celia’s niece, Sansa, before they would head to Summerhall. Viserys had it repaired in recent years, although it wasn’t near as grand as it had once been. Then, Dany would travel to Dorne to marry Quentyn Martell. Celia doubted any other Westerosi Lord would be able to handle Dany’s tomboyish nature. 

All of it, though, was to help dilute the Targaryen bloodline, making Jon’s children more Stark, and Dany’s children less Targaryen. 

Rhaenys was to marry Garlan Tyrell and remain in the capital and Robbie was soon to marry Myranda Royce.

It was all to do the opposite of previous Targaryen dynasties. A pure Targaryen line had lead to the most heartache within Westeros, spreading the House’s ties was the best way to fix it. 

“Mother,” Celia’s current youngest, Rhaella, came to her. “Aunt Elia.” She held up two daisy crowns and Celia smiled. 

“Thank you very much, sweetling,” Celia said, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s hand. 

“You made them beautifully,” Elia praised. 

Rhaella beamed and rushed off to offer more crowns to the rest of the family. Celia know that Robert would make a big show of it, but he would no doubt wear it for the rest of the day, boasting to the rest of the Kingsguard that he was the favorite. 

Celia smiled. Everything was perfect. And one more perfection was still to be added. 

—

Viserys searched through the library carefully, looking for something, rather, someone, important. The king peered under one of the desks and found his second eldest, Eddard, curled up, with his knees tucked under his chin. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” he said, sitting down next to his pouting son. “What is it this time?”

“The maester always compliments Robbie. And he never compliments me. And Jon and Dany are better at swords too.”

Viserys sighed and put his arm around his son and let the boy lean into his side. “We all have things we’re good at, Eddard. You’re wonderful at music. Gods help any person that hears him sing, and Jon and Dany break practically every instrument they touch.”

Eddard smiled slightly. “I can write good songs.”

“You can, so why is this getting to you now?” Viserys asked. 

“Someone said I was like Uncle Rhaegar. That I even look like him.”

“You happen to look like me, more than Rhaegar.” Eddard was Viserys’ only child to have the Targaryen look, although the new babe might have the same appearance, he wasn’t to know. “There’s nothing wrong with being good at music. It doesn’t make you Rhaegar.”

“But they say I’m like him.”

Viserys strokes his son’s hair. “You’re nothing like Rhaegar,” he said. “I can promise you that.”

“But they said—”

“I doubt those people truly knew your uncle, not like I or your Aunt Elia did.” He kissed Eddard’s temple. “You are nothing like your Uncle Rhaegar. You’re you, and I happen to love who you are.”

Eddard smiled. “Not as much as you love Mother though.”

“I love all of you equally,” Viserys sniffed. “But right now your mother is a bit of a priority because of the baby.” He kissed his son again. “Come on now, I’m certain your brother and Rhaenys have started another yelling match. We best go break them up.”

—

Elaena Targaryen was born on the anniversary of her father’s ascension to the throne. When they presented their daughter to the people, they cheered at the little princess with hair like fire and eye like amethysts. They had more than one reason to be cheerful of course. Within a month, after the period of making sure the princess was good and well, the Red Keep would hold a feast and the crown would open their stores to allow the smallfolk of King’s Landing to fill their bellies with plenty of food and cheer.

Viserys and Celia had done so with every since one of their children‘s births and they hoped to continue the tradition for whenever they had grandchildren. 

King Viserys, the Quiet Dragon and his wife Queen Celia, the Healer of the Flame, were well loved by their people and the royal couple loved them in return. Peace was achieved in a way it had not in many many years. 

—

Celia curled into her husband’s side and sighed in content. The children and most of the keep were in bed, their bellies full. Little Elaena was asleep in her crib, her belly full from her night feeding. 

Viserys was still awake. Both of them were. It was hard to believe how many years it had been since the rebellion, since they married, since they first had Robbie. 

Viserys pressed a kiss to his wife’s flaming hair. “Are you happy, my love?”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Incandescently.”

They shared a kiss and snuggled in to sleep as long as they could before Elaena would no doubt wake them. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe we’ve reached the end of the first Celiaverse fic! I just can’t believe it! Thank you all for reading and enjoying this fic! It’s probably one of the fluffier ones I had going right now. 
> 
> I’ll take a week break from my Thursday writing, so I’ll be back with the newest fic, Love’s Not Always Wise (Robb Stark x Celia Snow) in June 4th. Here’s the summary for the fic:
> 
> Growing up as the bastard daughter of Eddard Stark was not easy, yet, Celia knew she had it better than most. As things begin to change, and war echoes across the horizon, Celia must battle with her heart and duty as forbidden feelings begin to take root and she endangers everything and everyone she has ever loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates every Tuesday and Thursday


End file.
